


See No Evil

by AlElizabeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Family, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 19:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 96,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4576380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-Series AU. Sam leaves for Stanford, thinking only about finally fulfilling his dream of having a normal life. Instead, he is abducted by a ruthless enemy and his life becomes anything but normal. Can the Winchesters cope with the changes forced upon them and stick together or will they crumble under the pressure?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

"You walk out that door, don't you ever come back!"

Sam Winchester winced a little as his father's angry voice followed him out into the warm evening. He didn't look back though. He knew he'd never be able to leave if he did that.

Sam trudged stoically through the motel parking lot, looking straight ahead as he did so, afraid he'd crumble if he caught sight of his father's black 1967 Chevrolet Impala.

Hitching his duffel bag higher onto his shoulder, Sam took a deep breath and felt a great weight lift off his chest as his sneakers touched the sidewalk.

Sam's steps faltered however, when he heard the low rumble of a car engine approach from behind, the direction of the motel.

Please don't be Dean, Sam thought desperately. If his brother pulled up in the Impala and tried to convince him to stay, Sam was sure he'd would forget all about Stanford and ride back to the motel with him in a heartbeat.

A cherry-red convertible sped up the street from behind Sam, its headlights bathing him in their glare as it passed.

Sam glanced at his watch and picked up the pace. It was a half-dozen blocks to the bus station and he had only an hour in which to get there.

The sidewalks were dark, illuminated only in patches by the orange light cast by streetlamps and Sam momentarily regretted not asking his brother for a ride.

No, Sam thought, I couldn't do that; I couldn't do that to Dean. Besides, this is my chance to show them that I can be independent. This is my chance to show Dad that I don't have to be a hunter for the rest of my life.

SPN

Dean watched silently as his brother grabbed his duffel bag and walked out the door.

Stop him, you idiot! Dean told himself but his feet seemed rooted to the spotty motel carpet.

He stared as his father turned away from the door and although the man looked as angry as Dean had ever seen him, his son also saw how lost he looked. John ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair and shook his head in bewildered frustration.

"Did you know about this?" John pointed one blunt finger toward the door, eyes fixed on his eldest son.

Dean shook his head mutely. Sam had kept both of them in the dark about the full-ride to Stanford.

Why didn't he tell me? Dean wondered, feeling hurt that his little brother hadn't confided in him.

"I should have seen this coming," John muttered.

Me too, Dean thought dejectedly. He knew Sam wasn't going to be gone forever, that Sam wasn't abandoning them… but the hurt was still there.

John walked into the motel room's tiny kitchenette and grabbed a couple of beers from the bar fridge, offering one to Dean.

"Thanks," Dean muttered but didn't open his. He went over to his bed instead and sat down with his hands dangling between his knees and his head lowered.

John took a swig of his own beer, not knowing what to say to his eldest boy that would be of some comfort while he was still pissed at his youngest.

SPN

"I'm sorry, sir," the elderly man drawled, "The next bus arrives at eight a.m. sharp and not before. Now, there's a nice cheap motel just down the street that will surely have some rooms if you'd like to go there-"

Sam shook his head and swiped his bus ticket off the faux-marble counter, "I'll wait here."

The geezer shrugged and Sam turned away. He stared around the nearly deserted terminal for a moment before sighing and walking over to the bank of green plastic chairs. Sam dropped his duffel bag between his feet and sat down, exhausted.

Sam pushed his bag beneath his chair with his heels and leaned back. Sam smiled at his fellow traveler calling the terminal home for the night; a middle-aged woman in a purple car coat who appeared to be fast asleep in her corner chair.

Sam fished his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and stared at its dark screen.

Maybe I should call Dean, he thought but then hesitated.

What if Dean doesn't want to talk to me? Sam thought. What if he hates me?

Sighing, Sam pocketed his phone and stood. There was a vending machine over by the counters and he could use a snack.

Fishing some money from his wallet, Sam bought a bottle of Coke and a couple of bags of potato chips. Leaning against the machine, Sam watched as the single elderly employee closed up his counter and shuffled out into the waiting area through a door marked STAFF ONLY.

The old gent raised a hand to Sam as he slipped his coat on over his scrawny shoulders and Sam smiled back at the guy, taking a sip of his soda as he did so.

"You have yourself a good evening," the old man called back to the young man.

"You too," Sam replied.

"I hope you make it to wherever your goin'" Sam frowned a little bit as the senior citizen slipped out the door, his final words sounding somewhat ominous to the ex-hunter.

Pushing himself away from the vending machine, Sam went back to his seat and tore open one of the bags of chips. The woman in the corner was still fast asleep, snoring loudly and contentedly.

Munching away on the chips, Sam allowed himself to daydream a little bit about what college would be like. Sam smiled when he thought about how normal everything was going to be. He was no longer going to be the freak kid in school with the smart-ass older brother and the overzealous, part-time Dad. He could be anybody he wanted to be for the first time in his life! He could make and keep his friends… maybe even have a girlfriend… and not have to be worried about leaving suddenly because his Dad had found another case. Sam was actually kind of excited about essays and mid-terms and study groups because they didn't involve hunting.

Sam crumbled the empty chip bag up and set it down on the chair beside him. The sound of the front door opening startled Sam and his head shot up, his heart picking up its pace.

Maybe its Dad come to drag me back to the motel, Sam thought for one panicked moment before he saw that the man who entered was not his father.

The new traveler was fat and bald with a pleasant round face, no chin and dark beady eyes. Sam relaxed slightly- though not completely- when the man waddled toward the chairs and sat down right next to him.

Great, Sam thought with a roll of his eyes, guy could choose any freakin' chair he wants and he's gotta pick the one beside me.

Sam watched the fat man from the corner of his eye and noted with slight disgust that his pasty skin had a sheen of sweat covering it.

"I'm too late for the last bus, aren't I?" the man asked.

"Uh, yeah," Sam replied, "Next one doesn't come until eight in the morning."

The man smiled, "Perfect."

Starting to feel uncomfortable, Sam shifted in his seat and decided that on the pretense of needing the restroom he could switch chairs.

Before Sam could stand though he felt a sharp pain in his hand and, looking down, frowned in confusion at the tiny bead of blood welling up against his skin.

"Wha…" the young man didn't even manage to finish his question before passing out.

The fat man reached out and placed a hand against the kid's chest to prevent him from sliding onto the floor.

The front doors opened again and a second man entered. He was young and blonde. He quickly surveyed the terminal and crossed to his partner.

"Jeez, Oscar, you got us a fucking giraffe!" the newcomer mumbled and grabbed Sam's duffel bag out from under the chair, "Quick, check his pockets."

When his partner unzipped the duffel, Oscar deposited Sam's cell phone inside. He grabbed the young man's wallet and after pocketing the cash, tossed it into the bag as well.

"Get rid of that Ritchie," Oscar hissed and the other man nodded.

"Yeah, yeah," Ritchie muttered in exasperation.

Once his partner had exited the building through the back door- toward the dumpsters to dispose of the kid's effects- Oscar heaved the unconscious young man into a fireman's carry and strolled outside.

The parking lot was dark and deserted except for a nondescript yellow panel van. Oscar marched toward the vehicle and lowered his passenger onto the pavement as he waited.

Checking his watch, the fat man tapped his foot impatiently. He sneered angrily when he caught sight of Ritchie rounding the corner of the bus depot.

"Took you long enough," Oscar grumbled and his partner opened the van's rear doors, "This stuff doesn't last forever."

"Would you get off my back?" Ritchie hissed as he helped Oscar shove the unconscious young man into the van. There was a gurney in the back- the type most often found in an ambulance- that had been lowered so Ritchie only had to push the kid onto it and strap him down. Once Ritchie was sure the boy was secure he climbed out of the back and dusted off his hands.

Slamming the doors shut, Oscar shook his head, "You know what'll happen if anyone finds us, you dipshit."

"Fuck you!" Ritchie shot back as he climbed into the driver's seat, "I know how to hide stuff. No one's gonna find the kid's crap."

Oscar just sighed and squeezed himself into the passenger's seat.

"And don't drive like a senior citizen," Oscar complained, "Doc's waiting for us."

SPN

Dean's eyes were swimming as he stared at the computer screen. He had been at this research thing for hours and had so far only had an aching back to show for it.

Sam should be here doing all this nerdy shit, Dean thought tiredly.

The young man took out his phone and scrolled down to his sibling's number.

Thumb hovering over the TALK button, Dean hesitated.

What was he going to say? Hey, Sam, how's the weather in Cali? Joke's over, you really had us going. You ready to come back and help out with this hunt?

Tucking his phone back into his pocket, Dean ran a hand through his hair and turned his attention to the computer once more.

Sam's eighteen, Dean told himself, and you know he wouldn't want you phoning every day to make sure he's eating breakfast and getting enough sleep.

Tomorrow, Dean promised himself, I'll call Sammy tomorrow.

SPN

Doctor Bates strolled into the rear parking lot- the outside lights providing enough illumination to see but not be seen in return- and made a beeline for the yellow van that had its back doors wide open.

"Ah, Oscar! Ritchie! Hope you have something good for me this time!" he took his hands from the pockets of his lab coat and raised them in a 'what am I going to do with you' gesture.

Ritchie had a grin plastered to his weasely face and Oscar elbowed him in the ribs.

"He looks okay," Oscar replied in a serious voice and shuffled out of the way so Dr. Bates could look into the back of the van.

The young man was lying flat on his back on the gurney; the straps had been undone already in anticipation of the doctor's arrival. The first thing that Bates noticed about the boy was that he was very tall and bean-pole skinny.

"Where'd you find him?" Bates asked as he removed a syringe from his pocket and leaned over so he could extract some blood from the young man for future testing.

"Bus station out in Kettering," Oscar answered right away.

"Ohio?" Bates replaced the cap on the syringe and it disappeared back into his pocket. Next he took out a needle full of a pale yellow fluid- a broad-spectrum antibiotic- that would get rid of any existing infections. He tapped the vial to release any air bubbles and lifted the boy's arm, inserting the needle into the young man's elbow slowly.

"Yessir!" Ritchie piped up and Bates cringed.

Kiss ass, the doctor thought and stood, facing the two men.

"Good work," Bates spoke with no emotion, "Now, take him inside and have him processed. You know the sedative doesn't last forever."

The two men nodded and watched the doctor walk back inside.

"C'mon," Oscar grumbled, "I've had enough of this shit for the night. Let's just get him inside so he'll be somebody else's problem."

They pulled the gurney from the back of the van and Oscar adjusted the height so that it was easier to push. Ritchie and Oscar guided their barely-conscious captive inside and strolled through a maze of hallways before stepping into an ancient elevator.

The blonde man looked down at the fringe of chestnut hair covering the boy's brow and spoke up.

"Kid can't be more than seventeen or eighteen," he muttered, "I got a younger sister who's that age."

Oscar didn't say anything.

"Wonder where he was going? You know? I mean, if he was waiting for a bus than he had to have somewhere to go," Ritchie continued, much to Oscar's annoyance. He didn't really care how old the young man was or where he was going. He was here now and that was it.

The elevator door opened at the basement level and the trio exited. Oscar and Ritchie marched down a long barren hallway, stopping the gurney momentarily only when the young man shivered and tried to talk. The sound that came out of the kid couldn't be considered a real word, it was more of a breathy huhhhhhh sound but it had Oscar moving far faster than he usually did.

"Pick up your feet!" he snarled at Ritchie but breathed a sigh of relief when they burst through a set of double doors, startling the technicians working there.

"Bates wants him processed ASAP," Oscar said with an overinflated sense of authority and shook the kid's arm a little bit for emphasis.

A couple of technicians approached the gurney as the drivers took their leave. They wore white lab coats, latex gloves and blue doctor's masks. The woman took a penlight from her pocket and shone it into the young man's eye.

"Hmm," she muttered as the boy's pupil contracted slowly, "Looks like we have about a half-hour."

"More than enough time," the man grunted and hefted the kid into a sitting position.

"Hey! Kid? Can you hear me?" the male technician said loudly and the young man peeled his glassy eyes open in response.

"Help me get him over to the chair," the man said and between the two of them dragged the young man over to a plain plastic chair that had straps on the arms.

"Don't think we'll need those," the woman commented, gesturing to the leather straps, "He's still pretty out of it."

The young man's chin was resting on his chest but he didn't slide out of his seat so the technicians got started. The man grabbed a pair of scissors from the drawer nearby and fisted a handful of the boy's hair. The male technician cut quickly, chopping off great hanks of hair so that it looked like the kid's barber had been drunk when he'd worked on him. The woman turned on an electric clipper and mowed down the rest of hair until it was nothing but dark stubble.

The young man had started to wake up during the unwanted haircut and he lifted his head, a dazed look on his face.

"D'n?" the kid muttered but the technicians paid no attention. The man pulled the kid up into a standing position and although he swayed dangerously, the boy managed to stay on his feet.

The technicians took hold of the boy's upper arms and marched him across the room toward an open shower stall. Stopping right before the stall, the male technician pulled the boy's jacket off and dropped it unceremoniously onto the white-tile floor.

The pair worked with brutal efficiency as they stripped the kid's clothes off, as if they had done this a hundred times before… and they had.

Once the young man was naked, the woman turned on the water, not bothering to check the temperature, and the man shoved the kid under the icy spray.

The boy lifted his face to stare at the showerhead as though he had never seen one before, his bewildered expression almost comical. Strong hands grabbed the boy and pulled him out from the shower and the man and woman dressed him in dark blue drawstring pants and a white t-shirt. Finally, the woman snapped a hospital-style bracelet onto the young man's wrist but instead of his name it only had a series of numbers and letters that would mean nothing to the boy.

"I think that's a record," the man smiled as he checked his watch.

"Better get him upstairs and into a room before he wakes up completely," the woman replied, returning the man's grin.

"Think you can remember how to walk?" the man asked the young man, speaking loudly.

The male technician chuckled when the boy's eyebrows furrowed in confusion but he took a shaky step forward.

"Recovering quickly… Doc Bates'll like that," the man took hold of the boy's upper arm and he and the woman led the young man back the way he had come, to the same elevator but this time they went going up.

As they climbed higher, the young man shook his head as though trying to clear it. He blinked a couple of times and he peered around the elevator confusedly.

"Wha… where…" he tried but couldn't seem to figure out how to say exactly what he wanted to.

Once the elevator reached the desired floor the technicians led the confused young man down a hallway lined with metal doors. The boy's head snapped up suddenly when he heard a cry coming from inside one of the rooms.

At the end of the hall, the man opened a door and quickly peered into the room.

"In you go," the woman said in a cheery voice and pushed the boy forward. The young man stumbled into the room and collapsed.

The man closed the door and locked it.

Sighing, the woman pulled down her mask, "Hopefully that's the last one tonight."

The man nodded, "Care to have a drink with me?"

The woman smirked, "In your dreams!"

Laughing together, the technicians strolled down the hallway, their footsteps loud on the tiled floor.


	2. Chapter Two

Sam shivered, feeling cold although he wasn't sure why. He opened his eyes cautiously and quickly squeezed them shut. Wherever he was it was blindingly bright. His mind felt foggy and when Sam tried to recall what had happened, he couldn't. Was he sick? Did he get hurt on a hunt? Sam slowly picked himself up and once again opened his eyes- this time with more success as he squinted. His head throbbed with pain at the tiniest movement and his stomach bucked uncomfortably.

Without looking at his surroundings, Sam shot forward in panic and heaved into a stainless steel bedpan that had been sitting in the corner.

Tears leaked from Sam's eyes as he retched miserably. Curling himself around the bedpan Sam groaned in pain as his head spiked with agony every time his stomach tried to turn itself inside out.

Through his sedative-fogged brain, one thought shone like a lighthouse beacon and terrified Sam.

Something is wrong. This isn't right.

Sam retched again, his throat burning and his cheeks wet with tears. Exhausted, Sam leaned his back against the whitewashed wall and just tried to control his breathing.

Suddenly Sam remembered the bus depot in Kettering. He remembered talking to the elderly employee and… and… nothing. Sam couldn't remember anything after that.

Groaning, Sam ducked his head and caught sight of the hospital bracelet on his wrist.

His heart began to pound fearfully. Sam lifted his arm and narrowed his streaming eyes to try and read what was printed on the plastic-coated bracelet. If he was indeed at a hospital then it would give him at least some clue as to what had happened.

Sam frowned as he read the series of numbers and letters printed on the laminated plastic. Setting the bedpan down, Sam peered around the room, wondering where the staff was. Certainly there should be a nurse with him.

One look and Sam realized that he was not in any type of hospital he recognized. Pushing himself up from the floor, Sam staggered towards the door and tried the handle and somehow wasn't surprised to find it was locked.

Sam peered out through the tiny window reinforced with chicken wire and saw nothing but a blank wall across from the room he was in. He stared for maybe ten long minutes without seeing anyone walk past and lifted a hand to run his fingers through his hair.

Sam's heart jolted when his fingertips brushed against stubble and scalp.

Eyes wide, Sam ran both hands over his newly bald head.

Dad always wanted you to cut your hair, Sam thought humourlessly and felt fresh tears roll down his cheeks.

What the hell had happened?

Sam wiped at his eyes and peered down at his outfit. His feet were bare and he was wearing only a pair of drawstring pants and a t-shirt that was definitely not his.

Where were his clothes?

Nearly hyperventilating with panic, Sam managed to reach the cot that stood against one wall before he could fall. Burying his face in the lumpy pillow, Sam heaved again and retreated back to the corner with the bedpan. The sour stench of old vomit clinging to the camp bed sent warning bells blaring in Sam's head.

The youngest Winchester folded himself into a ball, his knees pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around his shins. Closing his eyes tightly, Sam called out silently to his family.

Dean! Dad! Where are you? What happened? Help me!

SPN

Dean sat down on his motel bed and pulled out his phone. He was all alone in the room, his father had gone down to the diner to get them some supper and he decided that now was as good a time as any to check in with Sam.

Dean knew his father was still simmering over Sam's decision to leave so he thought it best if he talked to his brother one-on-one without their Dad getting into the conversation.

Dean scrolled down his contact list and punched the TALK button when he stopped at Sam's number.

The phone rang once… twice… three times…

Dean frowned but shook his head, telling himself that Sam might not want to talk to him just yet.

Give him a week to get settled, Dean told himself. Seven days only and then call him.

Dean would have liked to hear his brother's voice right then, though and wasn't at all sure he'd be able to wait a whole week.

Tempted to call again and leave a message if necessary, Dean was stopped from doing so when his father knocked on the door.

Putting his phone away, Dean got up tiredly and opened the door for John.

"Hope you like burgers," the eldest Winchester said with a smile.

Dean rolled his eyes and stepped out of the way so that his father could enter. Dean took the brown paper bag from his Dad as the older man set the cardboard drink tray down on the kitchenette's Formica table.

Dean tore open the paper bag and grabbed the bacon cheeseburger waiting for him.

"Thanks Dad," Dean mumbled through a mouthful of ground beef and cheese.

"No problem, son," John said and dug into his own burger.

SPN

Sam looked up when the door opened and a hand wearing a latex glove slid a tray into the room.

Sam closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. He was exhausted; he hadn't slept at all and his abdomen felt as though a boxing champion had been using it as a punching bag. Slowly unfolding himself, Sam opened his eyes again and examined the food on the tray.

The tray itself was dark brown plastic with four separate sections. A sandwich sat in the largest section with a glob of green Jell-O in the section on the right. Someone had taken the time to make carrot and celery sticks- which sat on the sandwich's left side- and there was an apple juice box nestled in the last rectangular section.

Hospital food, Sam thought and picked up the sandwich. He peeled apart the two slices of bread and decided that the ham and cheese looked harmless enough. Sam nibbled on a corner of the sandwich and peered around the room. Still the same blank whitewashed walls and slippery white tile floor as before. Still the same cot and bedpan. Looking up, Sam saw that the ceiling was made of the same fiberglass tiles that were often found in schools.

As he ate, Sam tried to recall the event leading up to his imprisonment in this mysterious place. Closing his eyes as he munched on a celery stick, Sam concentrated on the elderly gentleman from the Kettering bus station.

He remembered being disappointed that he'd missed the late bus and would have to wait until morning for the next one. The employee had suggested he go to a motel down the road but Sam didn't have a lot of money as it was and he could just hang out in the terminal for free.

Sam could almost taste the soda and chips he'd eaten and he stared down sadly at the unimaginative meal on its plastic tray.

There was another person in the waiting area with him… a woman- but he didn't think she was a threat- he'd never spoken to her and she had been fast asleep anyway.

A headache began to throb between Sam's eyes and he rubbed tiredly at the spot.

Sam drank the apple juice but ignored the Jell-O. Shoving the tray back toward the door, Sam returned to the corner of the room and sat down, wrapping his arms around his legs as he did so.

I should have just taken the old man's advice and gone to the motel for the night, Sam thought, I might not be here if I had.

Sam sniffed and wiped at his eyes as he began to cry again.

"I wanna go home," he mumbled out loud and rested his cheek against his knees and closed his eyes.

SPN

Doctor Bates glanced at his wristwatch. They were late.

Sighing, he straightened the instruments sitting on a metal tray covered by a sterile cloth. "Should I page them for you?" the nurse asked.

Bates shook his head, "They shouldn't be much longer."

He had expected some delay; it was always the most difficult the first time around.

Peering at his watch once more, Bates looked up when he heard the sound of shouting coming down the hallway.

"Get your fucking hands off me!"

The doctor smiled to himself and stood.

The doors of the examination room burst open and the two orderlies manhandled the kid inside. The young man was taller than the men holding him captive but what they lacked in height they made up in muscle. Each had an iron grip on the boy's upper arms, holding him in place.

The young man took one look at the dentist-like chair and the doctor and redoubled his efforts to escape.

Bates watched silently as the young man writhed in the orderlies' grasp. He managed to elbow one man in the gut but that was as far as he got before he was wrestled into the chair. The orderlies snatched at his flailing arms and one hand knocked against the tray of instruments, sending it crashing to the floor before they managed to restrain him, strapping his wrists down to the chair arms.

"What do you want with me?" the young man snarled fiercely.

Bates was shocked. By now he should be bawling his eyes out and begging to go home; that is what the others always did… but not this boy… no, he was angry.

"Nurse, would you go get me a fresh set of tools?" he asked and the woman nodded.

"And another blood bag," he added after a moment's pause.

"Another one doctor?" the nurse asked hesitantly.

"Did I stutter?" Bates mocked and the nurse left the room to do as he had ordered.

Turning his attention to his captive, Bates noted that the boy's pupils were dilated and that his chest was heaving.

"Calm down," he told the young man.

"Fuck you!" the boy snapped and strained against the straps, his hands clenched into fists.

Bates raised his eyebrows in amusement. The nurse returned with clean instruments and the requested blood bag.

The boy's eyes kept traveling to the IV pole standing beside the chair, a pouch for blood collection hanging from one of its spindly, silver arms.

Bates replaced the instruments on the tray and tore open a package of alcohol wipes.

"Don't you touch me!" the kid snapped but Bates ignored him.

"This won't hurt," Bates informed the young man as he swiped the alcohol wipe on the inside of his elbow.

"M-BSPN666," Bates smiled when he read the code printed on the hospital bracelet around the boy's wrist, "You are certainly living up to your name."

"Let me go! What are you doing?" the kid yelped, his eyes growing wide when Bates picked up a needle and attached it to the thin, clear tube that fed into the bag hooked up to the IV pole.

"No! Get that away from me!" Now Bates saw fear flare to life in the boy's mossy green eyes and he smiled wolfishly.

"You're very special, you know that?" Bates spoke as he inserted the needle into the crook of the boy's elbow, talking over the young man's outraged cries.

"You're blood type is rare and for you it's a saving grace, really," Bates frowned when there was no crimson liquid flowing up the tube.

"Relax," he told the young man, "Or it will only take longer."

"Let me go!" the boy replied.

"I can sedate you if you like," Bates suggested, "But I don't think you want me to do that, do you?"

The kid stared at him for a moment as if trying to decide if he was bluffing before he uncurled his fist.

Bates waited patiently as the blood flowed up into the bag until it was full. One of the orderlies moved to release the kid but the doctor held up a hand, "One more time I think."

"What?!" the boy gasped, "You can't!"

Bates pulled the needle out and handed the bag full of blood to the nurse to deal with.

As he prepared the second needle and blood collection bag, Bates listened to the kid protest.

"You're insane! This is insane! Let me go you bastard!"

"I'm not crazy!" Bates snapped and jabbed the needle into the boy's elbow, causing him to cry out in pain.

"I'm just greedy," the doctor corrected calmly.

The boy's eyes narrowed and he asked a question that confused but delighted Bates with its irony.

"Are you vampires?"

"Of a sort," the doctor answered with a smile. He had never thought about it like that but he supposed that, yes, he was a vampire.

Once the second bag of blood was full, the boy quieted down. He was pale and his forehead was beaded with sweat.

"One more thing before you go," Bates picked up a needle full of a clear liquid.

"What's that?" the young man asked warily.

"Antibiotics," Bates said.

After the injection, the orderlies took the boy's restraints off and heaved him up. Grabbing hold of his arms, the men marched the boy to the door but he didn't struggle this time.

SPN

The elevator was spinning wildly and it was all Sam could do not to puke. He lowered his head so that he was staring at his feet and wished he could just lie down.

The men gripping his arms seemed immune to his misery and quickly ushered him down the hallway to his room.

One of the men unlocked the door while the other held Sam's arm in a painful grip. The youngest Winchester began to list to the side- he was just so tired- and stumbled when he was pushed into the room.

Sam didn't even bother turning around when he heard the lock slide into place. He lowered himself to the floor and pressed his cheek to the cool tile.

W

Sam kicked one of the men in the crotch before he could grab him and ran down the hallway. He hit the elevator door and slammed the palm of his hand on the buttons, praying that the doors would open for him.

"Damn it," he muttered when he glanced back and saw the two men coming for him.

Sam cried out when one of the men grabbed the back of his neck and jerked him away from the elevator doors.

"You're gonna pay for that," the man he'd kicked snarled and punched Sam in the face.

"Bates will have your head if you mess 'im up," the second man cautioned.

"Piece of shit's gonna pay for sacking me," the first man argued. Sam raised his hands to protect his face from further punishment when the second man pulled him to safety.

"C'mon," he grumbled, "Let the doc deal with him."

Sam didn't try and escape again. He was sure he'd be pummeled to pulp if he tried. He could already feel his eye starting to swell where the man had punched him.

They rode the elevator down and stepped out onto a floor Sam didn't recognize. He stopped walking, forcing his handlers to halt as well.

"Where are we?" he asked, even if he didn't receive an answer.

"You think Doc Bates is just gonna take your blood?" the man who'd punched him grinned cruelly.

Sam's heart beat increased and he began to struggle.

"Take me back! No! Get off me! Put me back in the room! Please!" Sam begged in fear.

"Don't have time for this," the man who had a penchant for hitting said and sucker punched Sam in the abdomen, knocking the wind- and the fight- from him.

Sam looked up when they entered the new room and whimpered fearfully.

"No," he begged as he caught sight of Bates and a female nurse wearing a green hospital gown, gloves, a mask and cap.

"Please," Sam tried again, "I'll be good… I won't fight… you can take my blood… I don't care…"

Bates' eyes narrowed from over their mask and he pointed at Sam's face, "Who did that?"

"Little bastard was trying to get away," the perpetrator answered shamelessly.

"God damn you, Elridge! What have I told you about hitting them?" Bates shouted, "If you hit them then nobody is going to want them!"

Sam cringed at the doctor's words.

"Why do I always have to remind you? We serve a very elite clientele and they want everything to be perfect!" Bates continued angrily.

"Sorry Doc," Elridge apologized, "But the little fucker kicked me in the nuts! Don't tell me you wouldn't teach 'im a lesson?"

Bates heaved a sigh and approached Sam. The young man flinched when the doctor touched the side of his face with one gloved hand.

"I would be more subtle about it," he answered his crony's question quietly.

"Please… please don't do this," Sam begged but Bates wasn't paying any attention to him anymore.

"Get him onto the table," the doctor said distractedly and Sam made one last-ditch attempt at freedom.

The orderlies manhandled Sam onto the operating table and strapped him down when he was lying on his stomach.

Sam was practically panting; his heart was pounding as Doctor Bates approached with a gas mask.

"Since I can't trust you to behave, you must be put out," the doctor explained, his annoyance clear in his tone.

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked fearfully.

The doctor ignored him and pressed the plastic mask down hard over Sam's mouth and nose.

A sickly sweet-smelling gas filled Sam's lungs and the lights seemed to grow amazingly bright for a moment before he closed his eyes and drifted into welcoming darkness.


	3. Chapter Three

Sam rolled over onto his side and hissed in pain, his hand hovering over his hip for a moment.

He stared across the room at the door and wished that Dean and his Dad would burst through and take him away.

Sam didn't know how long he had been here but he was almost positive it was over a fortnight. The small window in the room was far too high for Sam to reach and didn't provide much light, half the time Sam couldn't even tell what time of the day it was. When the lights in his room turned off- for the night, Sam assumed- he was plunged into darkness for what seemed like hours and despite being far too old to be frightened of the dark, Sam often found sleep eluded him.

He couldn't quite figure out what was going on. Bates hadn't been satisfied with just taking blood and had started extracting bone marrow as well. That ruled out the doctor as being a vampire as far as Sam knew. Sam was starting to realize that the doctor wasn't in fact a monster at all- or at least not the type of monster he was used to- but nothing more than a man. That didn't ease Sam's fear of him though; humans could be just as dangerous as any demon or ghoul.

Sam knew there were other people with him besides the doctor and his cronies. He heard the other prisoners' cries as they were dragged down the hall past his door, sometimes returning to their own rooms but most often not.

Sam fiddled with the hospital bracelet on his wrist. He read the code printed on the laminated plastic band for the hundredth time.

"M-BSPN666," Sam whispered but the meaning of the number and letter combination evaded him.

Closing his eyes, Sam tried to sleep despite the deep ache in his hip. Instead of drifting into unconsciousness though, Sam thought about his brother and father. He wondered if they knew he was missing yet and, if they did, would they ever find him.

A tear slipped out and rolled down Sam's cheek and he began to sob. He had never been so terrified of anything before. He didn't know how long Bates would let him live… he wondered if right now the doctor was preparing a deadly cocktail of poisons to inject into his veins while he smiled and said it was antibiotics. If Bates was as unsympathetic about taking Sam's blood and marrow, what else would he take? The youngest Winchester didn't kid himself. He knew that the doctor could take his life anytime he wanted. He knew that eventually Bates would tire of him and he would be powerless to stop the man from ending his life.

"Somebody please help me," Sam whispered in misery. He drew his knees up to his chest, buried his face into the pillow- ignoring the smell of old puke- and cried until he fell into an exhausted slumber.

SPN

The first time Dean called and got Sam's voicemail, he didn't panic.

The second time Dean called and got Sam's voicemail, he left a message.

The third time Dean called and got Sam's voicemail, he began to sense that something was very wrong.

John looked up from his journal and peered curiously at his eldest son.

"What's the matter?" he asked Dean as the young man stared at his cell phone, brows knitted together worriedly.

"Sam's not answering his phone," Dean answered.

John shrugged, "Maybe he's busy."

Dean shook his head, "No, I left him a message and I know Sam would call me back."

John leaned back in his seat and set his pen down. He didn't know what to tell Dean. Maybe Sam just wanted to be left alone now that he had decided he wanted to go to school instead of hunting monsters and saving people.

Dean seemed to read the look on John's face and he protested, "Oh no, Sam wouldn't just abandon us, Dad. He'd at least call to let us know he arrived at Stanford safely, don't you think?"

"I don't know, son," John mumbled and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. Ever since Sam had become a teenager, John had found out that he didn't really understand his youngest son and by the way he had acted the night he left, the eldest Winchester wouldn't be all too surprised if his boy had decided to call it quits on them as well as the hunting life.

Dean shook his head and tried his brother's number yet again.

Sam wouldn't leave them hanging, Dean was certain of it. Even if he was still pissed from the argument, he'd at least talk to his older brother. Wouldn't he?

SPN

The Dunhill Psychiatric Hospital in Marshalltown, Iowa sat on an expansive parcel of land about six miles outside of the city. The hospital had been built in the late nineteen fifties and was considered to be one of the finest mental health facilities in the state. The grounds featured a spacious garden and greenhouse, a tennis court, and an in-ground pool. Cathcart Hall- the main residence- was a large redbrick building that sat upon a shallow swell at the front the grounds, surrounded by carefully tended rosebushes. Visitors and passersby alike had a clear view of the hall from the road and often told the staff that they appreciated and felt comforted by its charm.

Doctor Bates smiled at the young woman at the nurses' station when she greeted him. He nodded to other familiar faces as he walked past without giving them his full attention. He was a man on a mission. Making his way towards the elevators, Bates straightened his tie and checked his suitcase for the hundredth time that morning.

It wasn't that he was nervous, no he had been through this enough times to know that Findlay trusted him; the emotion that was making his heart beat faster and his palms slick with sweat was excitement.

Bates had the lift all to himself and he cringed a little at the tinny, carefree music piping in from the speakers. He straightened his tie out of habit even though he knew it wasn't crooked.

He greeted a fellow doctor when the woman stepped into the elevator.

"How are things going at North?" she asked Bates conversationally.

He deadpanned, "Same as always."

The woman doctor smiled, "Keep up the good work."

Bates smirked and exited the elevator when it stopped on his floor. Walking casually past the offices and taking no notice of the colourful prints of flowers on the walls, he knocked sharply on the wooden door at the end of the hallway.

"Come in," Findlay's voice called out and Bates stepped into the director's office.

"What have you got this time?" Findlay asked, curiosity tinging his voice.

Bates walked right up to the younger man's desk and set his suitcase on top of it.

"Just the usual batch, Will," he muttered as though bored.

William Findlay, director of the Dunhill Psychiatric Hospital, sighed and ran a hand through his sandy-coloured hair, his blue eyes already beginning to glaze over.

Bates picked a dozen manila folders from his case and spread them out for Findlay to examine. The younger man flipped through a couple of them, barely glancing at the photos of young men and women with shaved heads and deer-in-the-headlights looks on their faces.

"You could have sent someone else up if all you needed was to give me these," Findlay told Bates, holding up the folders for emphasis.

The doctor looked up and smiled, "I could but I didn't want anyone else to have the pleasure of showing you this."

Bates opened up the one folder that he hadn't handed to the director and pointed at a picture of a young man that had been paper clipped to the necessary forms. The young man had a lean face, a slightly long nose, stubbly hair that might be chestnut brown if allowed to grow out and green eyes. Instead of the familiar shell-shocked expression, the boy was glaring at whoever was taking his photograph.

Findlay lifted the photo and was about to read the kid's information when Bates slipped the folder away from him and held it up.

"He was found in Ohio, can't be older than twenty," Bates told the director, "Exceptionally healthy. Not a single thing wrong with him."

Findlay folded his hands together and rested them atop his desk, "Great. He should bring in some good cash then."

Bates smiled knowingly, "He has a very rare blood type, Will. And he's a universal donor."

"So you'll want to keep him for a while then," the director said and Bates nodded.

Findlay leaned back in his swivel chair, "Okay, well, North is your kingdom."

Bates handed over the young man's file to be put with the others. Leaning over the desk he shook hands with Findlay and stood, smoothing out his suit.

Before reaching the door, the doctor turned around, "By the way, we had to terminate F-CNJW829 earlier today."

"I'll have her file shredded immediately," Findlay promised and Bates left the office.

Bates whistled a little as he walked down the hall and decided to take the stairs instead of the elevator; if only to escape the chirpy music. He gave a cursory nod to the nurse on duty as he entered the lobby and stepped out into the crisp September air.

North was indeed the domain of Doctor Arthur Bates. All within its walls were his subjects and his rule was tyrannical. Built only two years after Cathcart Hall, the North Hall held none of the redbrick's character. Originally designed to house dangerous and 'incurable' patients, the North Hall jutted up from the surrounding land like a massive grey tower. Under Bates' reign, the residence was his own personal playground where young men and women were forced to donate their blood and even their organs for the doctor's clientele. Findlay was the North Hall's gatekeeper. No one from Cathcart Hall entered the residence as long as William Findlay continued to receive a part of the profit that Bates made. Findlay was happy to turn a blind eye to Bates' work as long as didn't interfere with the rest of Dunhill Psychiatric. Like Bates, William Findlay was also a greedy man and his avarice would always win out against the lives of men and women he did not know.

SPN

Dean's phone trilled out the chords to 'Smoke on the Water' and the young hunter nearly jumped on the device, smiling because he just knew it was Sam calling.

"Sammy, where've you-" Dean halted mid-sentence when he was greeted by an unfamiliar male voice.

"Am I speaking to a John or Dean Winchester?" the man asked and immediately Dean knew that something was off.

Clearing his throat, Dean put on his game face, "This is Dean Winchester. Can I ask who is calling?"

"Sheriff Evan Teller from the Kettering Police Department," the man answered and Dean relaxed a little bit.

"Oh, you'll want to speak to my Dad then," Dean pulled the phone away from his ear sadly and handed it over to John who had just stepped inside with their dinner in brown paper bags.

The two Winchesters made a trade and Dean eagerly opened the greasy take-out bag, inhaling the scent of French fries and burgers.

"Hello?" John asked, keeping an eye on his eldest son to make sure Dean didn't get carried away and inhale his burger as well.

"John Winchester? This is Sheriff Teller from the Kettering Police Department," the man repeated.

"How can I help you?" John asked, slightly confused. They never received calls from cops unless they knew someone on the force. John was pretty sure he didn't know anyone in Kettering, Ohio.

"Do you have a son named Samuel?" Teller asked and John felt a sliver of dread pierce his heart.

"Yes," he answered, "What's this about, Sheriff?"

"Your son's duffel bag was found in a dumpster outside of the Greyhound station in my city, Sir," Teller answered and John's grip on the cell phone tightened.

"What?" John exclaimed, causing Dean to look up from his meal and raise his eyebrows in curiosity.

"I'd rather not discuss the details over the phone," Teller said but before he could say more the frightened father spoke up.

"Have you found Sam? Is he alright?" John asked and Dean shot out of his chair to hover nervously by his father's side.

"So far we've only found your son's duffel but-" Teller began again, always hating this part of his job the most when he heard John speak to Dean.

"Pack your stuff now, Dean, we have to get to Ohio," John snapped unnecessarily at his eldest.

"John? Mr. Winchester," Teller managed to get the distraught man's attention, "I just need to ask you one question before you go: Did you know that Samuel was here?"

John sighed, "No, but I knew he was gone, if that's what you mean. He was going to California for school."

"Alright Sir," Teller said and John could almost hear the unspoken questions that surely popped into the man's head: If your son was going that far for school, was he running away from something? Why make your son take transit? Why not drive him across the country yourself?

John closed the phone and tossed it to Dean who caught it deftly.

"What's going on Dad? Where's Sam?" his son asked urgently as he grabbed both their bags and carried them out the door, his dinner completely forgotten.

John waited until they were in the safety of the Impala before he spoke, peeling out of the motel parking lot without even checking out.

"Someone found your brother's bag in a dumpster," he said quietly, terrified of what that could mean.

Dean's mouth gaped open for a moment in shock and then he ran a shaking hand through his hair, "No, oh no… What happened? Is Sam okay?"

John shook his head, "I don't know. The Sheriff said they only found Sam's duffel."

Dean shivered and wrapped his arms around his middle.

It was going to be a long drive to Ohio.

W

The ride to Kettering was silent and tense. Neither Winchester spoke nor did Dean even think about turning on the radio.

Both men were trying not to go into total panic-mode; they told themselves that it was more than likely Sam was perfectly fine and that he'd just, what, decided to toss his duffel bag into some sketchy bus station dumpster? Yeah, that was believable.

John gripped the Impala's steering wheel with white knuckles.

All he could think was that his youngest son, his baby boy might be in trouble, hell, he might be… no, John couldn't accept that. Sam was alive.

Dean listened distractedly to the Legos rattle in the classic cars heating vents. He vividly remembered that day, that was the day Sam had shoved one of his little green army men into the ashtray in the backseat. Dean smiled sadly at the memory.

Ah, Sam, where are you? Dean wondered. Dean didn't think Sam would just take off and disappear into the wild blue yonder. Sure, the kid had wanted to go away to school but not go fall off the map completely.

Dean wiped angrily at his eyes as they began to prickle with tears. He caught his Dad watching from the corner of his eye and grumbled something about allergies.

John gave his eldest a grim smile and released one hand from the wheel to give Dean's shoulder a squeeze.

"Don't worry, we'll find Sam," he tried to sound optimistic.

Dean had no doubt that they would find Sam. The only question was, would they want to?

A lump grew in Dean's throat as he imagined his eighteen-year old brother lying cold and still on some morgue slab. All because he'd wanted to go to school.

Get a grip, Dean! He chastised himself; you don't even know what happened so before you go all doom and gloom, wait to hear what the cops have to say!

Dean didn't think he could wait that long. He wanted to find his brother now!

Sighing, Dean turned his head so he was staring out the passenger window, not really seeing the scenery as it flew by, John pushing the Impala as fast as she could go without attracting attention.


	4. Chapter Four

Sam stared wearily at his food. A sandwich- ham and cheese- sat beside the familiar carrot and celery sticks. A brown blob of pudding and a juice box containing fruit punch had been thrown in for something different, Sam guessed.

His arms ached. The elbows of both were purple and blue with bruises, dark red and black pinprick-sized spots indicated puncture wounds from the needles.

Sam raised a hand and ran it over his scalp. The day before- or had it been two days ago? Sam didn't know; it was getting more and more difficult to tell time in this place- he had been hustled down to a room that almost seemed familiar and strapped to a chair so that some stranger with a pair of hair clippers could get rid of the fuzz that had been trying to grow into hair.

Sam had fought hard when the orderlies had tried to shove him into the chair. He always fought though, so they were ready for him. He shuddered at the memory of the buzz-whirr sound the electric clipper had made, like nails on a chalkboard or a dentist's drill. Sam knew it did no use to struggle, he wasn't going to get away and all it did was leave him exhausted anyway.

But complying would be like giving in, giving up and Sam was not about to do that. Even if all his fighting did was annoy Bates, Sam felt a small bit of satisfaction in knowing that he had made the mad doctor's life a little bit more difficult.

"God, that's pathetic," Sam muttered out loud and grabbed the sandwich from the tray.

Sam sniffed at the filling, not sure how long the meat and cheese had been sitting out but decided that if Bates was pumping him full of antibiotics, he might as well put them to the test.

SPN

John and Dean took turns shaking hands with Sheriff Teller. John had insisted they go right to the police station and his eldest son had made no protest. In Dean's opinion, the faster they found out what had happened to Sam, the faster they'd get him back.

Teller had shown the Winchesters to an empty interview room for some privacy in the bustling cop-shop. The Sheriff sat across from the two men, laying his hands on the table and sighed.

"Can I get you gentlemen a cup of coffee?" he asked, "It's shit but you both look like you could use some."

Dean shook his head and John said, "All we want is to know what happened to Sam."

Sheriff Teller nodded, "I understand your worry. I just need to ask you some questions first."

Both Dean and John immediately became anxious. Although neither of them had anything to hide, the idea of being implicated in Sam's disappearance only added to their concern.

"Are we suspects?" John asked guardedly.

Sheriff Teller's bushy grey eyebrows rose in surprise at the question, "Heavens no! We just need to get an idea of what happened before Samuel went missing."

Dean cringed a little at the use of his brother's full name, "It's Sam. He likes to be called Sam."

Teller cleared his throat, "I'm sorry. Sam, then."

All three men looked up when the door to the interrogation room opened and a state trooper stepped inside. Dean saw a moment of recognition cross his father's features at the sight of the man but it quickly vanished. Dean didn't think he'd ever seen the guy before in his life. He was definitely older than John, with dark brown hair that was graying at the temples and shrewd brown eyes. He was tall- not as tall as John though- and wiry.

"Ah, Detective Kaylor," Teller announced and stood up to greet the newcomer.

"Mr. Winchester," he continued, "May I introduce State Detective Deacon Kaylor. He will be heading your son's case."

Both Dean and John shook the Detective's hand before sitting down again.

"Can you tell us exactly how you found Sam's things?" John asked but the Sheriff shook his head.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions first, if that's alright with you." Teller said. From the look on John's face it was not alright with him but he didn't complain. Instead he waved a hand in a 'go on then' motion.

"What day did Samuel- Sam- leave your home?" Teller asked and Dean immediately perked up.

"August twentieth," he answered promptly.

"Alright," Teller said, "And Sam was headed to California? To Stanford University?"

"Yes," John answered this time, before asking, "Do you have Sam's things? Can we get them back?"

Dean frowned. He was sure his father hadn't specified what school Sam had been accepted to while talking on the phone with the Sheriff.

They probably searched through Sam's bag; Dean realized and folded his arms, feeling slightly violated for his absent brother.

"Your son's belongings will be returned to you later on," Teller answered vaguely, "Why was Sam taking public transit? You obviously have a vehicle of your own; I saw it when you pulled in."

"Hey!" Dean snapped but stopped when his father laid a hand on his arm.

John rubbed a hand over his mouth. It wouldn't do to lie, especially since Sam's life might be on the line.

"Sam didn't leave us on good terms," he answered as vaguely as Teller had.

Teller grunted, "You mean you two had a fight?"

John sighed, wishing he didn't have to air out all his dirty laundry for the Sheriff but if it would help them find Sam- and write him off as a suspect- then he guessed it was necessary.

"I wasn't happy about Sam going away, if that's what you mean," John finally confessed.

Dean thought that was the understatement of the year. Recalling the shouting match his brother and father had had before Sam left, it was a little more than John being 'unhappy' about his son's decision to seek a higher education.

"Did you two become physical?" Teller asked and Dean stood up, his chair skating across the slick linoleum floor in his haste.

"Hold on! Are we being accused of something?" He asked indignantly.

"Dean, sit down!" John hissed but Dean shook his head.

"Dad! He's asking if you hurt Sam!" He argued.

"I know that Dean!" John growled and turned to the Sheriff, "No, I never touched my son. We argued, sure. We shouted, said things we didn't mean but I never laid a hand on my boy."

"Alright," Teller rose his hands, "Let's all just calm down for a moment, here."

Dean retrieved his chair and sat down with an angry huff, glaring distrustfully at the Sheriff.

Keeping his voice even, John continued, "I'm a mechanic by trade. I was in the Marines. I never even finished high school. I was scared for Sam…. I didn't want him going so far away. With all the terrible things you hear about on the news I was worried for my son."

Teller nodded apologetically, "I understand. I'm sorry for the questioning but in cases like this we have to be sure to rule out family members."

"We understand," John said, "Don't we, Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean muttered, still eyeing the Sheriff warily.

"Okay," Teller too off his hat and ran a hand through his thinning silver hair, "When was the last time you spoke to Sam?"

Dean thought back to the message he'd left on his brother's phone, "The night he left."

Even Detective Kaylor looked surprised at this statement.

"We were all kind of emotional after Sam left so we didn't try and call him until later, Dean explained, "I didn't call him during the first week either 'cause I figured he'd want to get settled in."

John nodded, "When Dean did call Sam and he didn't get an answer we thought he had just forgotten his phone in his dorm or something like that. But then Dean tried again… and Sam still didn't call back…"

John's eyes suddenly grew hot and he quickly looked down at the stainless steel tabletop. He should have known something was wrong, damn it! He was a hunter and he hadn't had the sense to realize his youngest was in trouble the first time he'd failed to answer his brother's message.

"One more question and please, don't take offence," the Sheriff begged of the Winchesters.

Dean tensed, waiting for the bomb to drop.

"Where were you the night of August twentieth from ten forty-two to eleven thirty?"

John paused. He had been in a library in Altoona, Pennsylvania trying to find information on a poltergeist.

"We were in our motel room having a late dinner," Dean lied expertly.

Teller's grey brows crept together, "I thought you said you were a mechanic."

John nodded, "I travel around a lot; the economy, you know."

Dean added, "He's better than AAA."

"I think I have everything I need," Teller said and stood, "I'll leave you in Detective Kaylor's capable hands now."

John nodded, shook the Sheriff's hand and watched him leave before turning to the State Detective.

"Deke! You son of a bitch!" John smiled and stood to give the state detective a manly hug.

Dean just sat dumbfounded as the two friends greeted each other.

SPN

Sam struggled as the orderlies marched him down the hall. He was tired and sore but he didn't stop.

"Quit squirming!" one of the orderlies snapped but the command succeeded only in making Sam fight harder. He dragged his feet along the linoleum floor, forcing the orderlies to take his full weight- not that it was much, he'd lost a lot since arriving here- and he smiled when he heard both men panting as they hauled him down the hall.

"Maybe Bates should just give you a fuckin' lobotomy," the second orderly sneered, "That'd shut you up."

The very thought made Sam's stomach queasy but he didn't show it. Instead, he dug in his heels and nearly broke free from his captors when they jerked his arms, unaware that he had stopped moving.

"Son of a-" the first orderly who had spoken growled and held Sam's upper arm in a bruising grip.

Sam tried to twist away from the punishing hold but he was trapped.

"Not so much fun now, eh?" the orderly smirked while his partner likewise tightened his fingers around Sam's bicep.

Sam tried not to be frightened when they walked into the room with the dentist-like chair. At least they hadn't taken him to the surgery room; he was glad for that.

Doctor Bates looked up and smiled at Sam condescendingly.

"What the fuck are you smiling at?" Sam snarled with as much anger as he could muster.

Bates just chuckled and didn't answer. Whatever. Sam decided he didn't want to know what the asshole was grinning for anyway.

"Gentlemen," the doctor motioned to the orderlies and they pushed Sam towards the chair.

One of the men shoved Sam against the seat and pinned him there with one hand on his chest. He grabbed Sam's wrist and pressed it against the armrest and expertly cinched the strap tight- probably tighter than necessary- while his partner tied Sam's other arm down.

The orderlies moved stealthily away and watched, smirking, as Bates prepared to extract blood.

Sam hissed in pain as the doctor inserted the needle into the already tender flesh of his elbow and watched as though fascinated as his own blood swirled up the tubing and into the bag it connected to.

"Not so bad, eh?" Bates said companionably and Sam wondered just how bad it could get.

W

Sam curled up on the cot and put his hands over his eyes. Hot tears- tears he held onto until he was alone- seeped through his fingers. He shivered and then hugged his knees, wishing he had a blanket for a little bit of warmth.

He wondered if his father and brother knew he was missing yet. He hoped they did because that would mean they were looking for him.

Maybe they think you're at school, Sam told himself morosely, maybe they're still angry at you for leaving them.

"No," Sam whispered in a tight, watery voice, "They know. They know and they're coming for me right now. Any minute now Dean's gonna open that door and take me away from here."

Sam even held his breath, listening hopefully for the sound of running or shouting or shooting but the only thing he could hear was his own muffled whimpers.

He buried his face into the sour-smelling pillow and cried for a long time.


	5. Chapter Five

Once the greeting was over, both men turned deadly serious.

Deacon Kaylor set a folder down on the table and opened it.

"I wish we could have this reunion under better circumstances," he muttered as he flipped through the sparse pages.

"Yeah," John mumbled and caught Dean's eye.

"How do you two know each other?" he asked. He wondered if this state detective was really a hunter in disguise, maybe he was working Sam's case because his brother had been taken by a monster.

"We were in Vietnam together," John answered, "Deke here saved my ass more than once."

The older man chuckled, "That's 'cause you always managed to get into trouble, Winchester."

Dean couldn't imagine his Dad needing to be saved by anyone. John was the knight, not the damsel in distress.

Clearing his throat, Deacon continued, "I heard about what happened to your wife; I'm sorry."

John nodded, "It was a long time ago."

Dean frowned. Sure, it was a long time ago, eighteen years to be exact but John didn't forget. Maybe this Deacon Kaylor wasn't a hunter after all.

"The Sheriff said that Sam's duffel bag was found in a dumpster?" Dean asked the state detective. Mary Winchester was gone, there was no hope for her but there was still hope for Sam.

Deacon nodded, "A local homeless man was going through the garbage and found the bag; he called it in because he thought it was weird that someone would just leave all their stuff like that. He thought he'd get a reward or something. He also said that it looked as if someone had put it in the dumpster on purpose. It was near the bottom of the bin; underneath a ton of garbage as if someone had been trying to hide it."

Dean looked at his father, wide-eyed. There was no way that Sam would say he was going off to school and then just ditch his duffel. Even if he had lied about Stanford he would still need the bag; all of his worldly possessions were in there.

"Your son's cell phone was also found in the bag, the battery was dead and his wallet with everything in it but the cash."

"Could someone have robbed Sam and dumped the bag?" John asked, not liking that possibility either but it was slightly better than the alternatives he could think of.

"I don't think robbery was the intent," Deacon shook his head; "If Sam was mugged he would have been found by now, taken to the nearest hospital and identified. Besides, only the money was missing, they weren't interested in credit cards or Sam's cell phone."

John took a deep breath, "So you're sure that Sam's been… been kidnapped?"

Deacon nodded, "All the evidence points that way."

Dean didn't want to sit anymore; he wanted to be out there looking for his brother. He stood up from his chair and ran a hand through his short hair.

"Does the Greyhound depot have surveillance?" he asked suddenly.

The state detective nodded, "I was getting to that, son. I have to play by the rules even if you don't."

Dean paused. So maybe this Deacon Kaylor knew about what his Dad did.

"Why didn't you say something before, Deke?" John asked and slapped a hand down on the tabletop.

"The station's got cameras only on the outside, facing the parking lot and the video we have doesn't help us out much," Deke said, "But I'd like you to take a look at it, all the same."

The three men left the quiet interview room and went through the police barracks to a second, much smaller room with a television sitting on a black metal stand in the far corner.

Dean, John and Deacon Kaylor crowded into the room and the detective closed the door tightly.

"Sorry about this," Deacon apologized, "This is only really meant for one or two people."

He went to a narrow shelf and pulled a video tape down. He slipped it into the VCR and turned the television on.

White snow covered the screen for a long moment before the picture changed to show a corner of the Greyhound bus depot parking lot. Dean could just make out the yellow lines of parking spaces illuminated by an exterior light shining in one corner of the frame.

The time on the corner of the video showed that it was ten thirty in the evening of August twenty-first.

Dean's eyes seemed glued to the screen as an elderly gentleman- grainy and cast in black and white from the camera- stepped into the frame five minutes later.

"That's Mr. Norman Grenview," Deacon informed the Winchesters, "He was the last person to see Sam."

Dean drew a quick breath at the thought: the last person to see Sam.

"He was interrogated but isn't a suspect," State Detective Kaylor continued, "He said Sam seemed pretty laid-back. He wasn't acting nervous or scared. He wasn't looking over his shoulder or anything that would arouse suspicion. He noticed Sam because he was so polite. 'Not like the kids you usually see nowadays' was what he said."

John smiled at that last bit and he saw Dean bite his lower lip.

Nothing happened again until seven minutes after eleven when a pale-coloured panel van parked in the camera's range, only its front end visible in the frame.

Dean's heart sped up and he found himself leaning closer to the screen as though that might help him see better. John laid a hand on his eldest son's shoulder as they watched a rotund man squeeze out from the passenger side of the van and waddle toward the bus station off-screen.

Deacon rewound the video and paused it for the Winchesters.

"Do either of you recognize this man?"

Dean didn't know. He looked like just another overweight guy to him. Even with the grainy texture of the film, Dean was sure he'd never seen the man in his life.

John scrutinized the man with a more critical eye. Although the man didn't seem familiar to him that meant almost nothing. He checked for an eye-flare or any other indication that the man was not a man but a supernatural being.

Finally, John shook his head sadly, "No."

Deacon let the video play. The fat man was gone for only a dozen minutes when a second man exited the van, this time from the driver's side.

"Have you ever seen him before?" Deacon asked.

This man was a fair bit younger than the first one, closer to Dean's own age if he had to guess, but was as unfamiliar as the chubby fellow.

Dean and John watched the screen, seeing nothing until both men reappeared at front end of the van and got back inside. They watched as the vehicle peeled out of the parking lot and out of the frame. The time on the bottom of the screen read eleven thirty.

"Do you think they grabbed Sam?" Dean asked; his throat thick and dry with fear.

Detective Kaylor nodded, "The FBI has warned a handful of state police to be on the lookout for strange disappearances over the past eight years and your brother's abduction seems to fit the bill."

John frowned, "What do you mean by 'strange' disappearances? People go missing all the time."

"The Bureau is keeping track of abductions of young people who were traveling alone. These victims usually go missing from bus or train stations and are always either teenagers or in their twenties. All of the missing kids were not considered runaways: they all had places to go, families and were expected to return," Deacon said, telling John and Dean more than he should.

The two Winchesters turned to each other.

"What do you think? Vampires?" Dean asked his father.

John nodded, "Could be. But there's also-"

Deacon interrupted, looking horrified at the topic, "Vampires? No, the Feds think this is the work of someone or a group of people harvesting organs for the black market."

Both Dean and John stared at the state detective for a moment.

"I think I like the idea of vampires better," Dean whispered, turning pale.

"What do you mean, Deke?" John asked and the older man sighed, running a hand through his brown hair.

"The FBI is almost certain that kids are being kidnapped to have their organs stolen," he repeated, "There's been no bodies found but with this amount of young people- young healthy people- going missing it can't be a coincidence."

"Well, why are the Feds doing anything about this? Why are they just keeping tabs?" Dean asked angrily.

"These people are keeping themselves well-hidden," Deke answered, "Even for the professionals it's not easy to find these guys."

If the FBI can't find Sam then how in the world are we going to be able to? Dean thought helplessly and turned to his father.

"An agent infiltrated these guys a couple of years back," Deacon said, trying to give the Winchesters at least some hope, "She didn't get very much information before they found out she was a rat and she had to bail but what she did manage to get has been useful."

John looked to his old friend impatiently, "What do you know?"

"They cater to a high-end clientele, rich folks, and display their uh, products online," Deacon told the Winchesters.

"At the time they were infiltrated they were using a private school as their point of operations," he continued, "The place was already so full of kids that no one would notice if there were a few extra."

Dean's mouth dropped open. He'd often heard that black market guys were sly but, damn, if no one noticed kids getting chopped up like so much meat in a freakin' school then their chances of finding Sam were steadily declining.

"After that they disappeared, they could be anywhere now," Deke said in a subdued tone. That was the bad news about all this. The sons of bitches could be anywhere, hell they could be operating outside of the States, orchestrating the kidnappings from an international location and having the poor kids trafficked across borders.

"Can't the Feds find out what their website is or something?" Dean asked, "I thought the Feds were supposed to be the best at that kind of thing."

Deke shook his head, "Like I said, these assholes keep themselves well-hidden."

John, who had grown quiet, looked to his old friend and his eldest son.

"I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you get your son back," Deacon told the hunter.

John smiled and put a friendly hand on Deke's shoulder, "You've done more than enough to help us."

The state detective frowned, "What are you thinking, Winchester?"

"I don't want you to get involved in this, it could be dangerous," John said and Deacon spluttered indignantly.

"Dangerous? Of course it's dangerous! Whatever you've got planned, let me help," the older man insisted.

"Dad, I think Detective Kaylor is right," Dean agreed, "We could really use some official help, at least to keep the authorities out of our way for a while."

Dean didn't know what his father was thinking but he knew the look on John's face well enough to know he had something in mind.

"But John, think about it for a minute, will you?" Deacon pleaded, "If the Feds can't find these people, what makes you think you can?"

Still smiling grimly, John said, "I'm not going to find them… but I know someone who can help."

W

Dean tossed his duffel bag tiredly onto the motel bed and sat down on the mattress. After leaving the police station they had scoured the Greyhound depot were Sam had been taken, looking for sulfur, testing for EMF, anything that would rule out monsters and Dean was exhausted. He was worried and ready for all of this to be over. All Dean wanted was to know his little brother was safe and secure.

John sat in the room's small table, his cell phone pressed against his ear and an unnaturally nervous look on his face.

Dean didn't ask who his father was calling. He guessed he'd find out sooner or later anyway. Instead he picked up Sam's duffel- Deacon had returned it to them before they left the station- and hugged it to his chest, missing his brother and hoping that he was alright.

John didn't seem to notice his eldest son's actions- or if he did he didn't comment- and furrowed his eyebrows as he waited for the phone to be answered.

"Hello?" a stern, feminine voice asked and John suddenly wasn't quite sure what he was going to say.

"Ellen Harvelle?" He asked, a little huskily.

"Yeah, who is this?" she returned in a no-nonsense tone that made all the saliva in John's mouth dry up. He didn't think it would be this hard to speak to her.

"It's John… John Winchester. Wait! Before you hang up, let me explain why I'm calling!"

John breathed a sigh of relief when Ellen didn't slam the receiver back down or start screaming at him.

"What do you want?" She asked, her voice hard as ice now.

"My son, Sam, he's been kidnapped and I need your help. Please, Ellen. He's only eighteen," John whispered, not realizing he was doing so.

There was no reply from the other end.

"Ellen? Please. Help me, I'm begging you. I don't care if you still hate me but do this for my boy," John's voice began to grow more and more quiet until he was barely audible.

"Fine," she answered and John could almost see her lips forming into a thin, tight line and her knuckles turn white around the phone, "I guess I should expect you in the next few hours?.

"Thank yo-" John began but the phone had gone dead. He closed his cell phone to see Dean watching him.

Clearing his throat, John stood and fished the Impala's keys from his pocket.

"We're leaving, Dean," he said and grabbed his duffel bag from the second motel bed.

Dean looked surprised, "We only just checked in."

John slipped the strap of his duffel over his shoulder, "And now I say we're leaving."

Dean didn't argue, he still clung onto his brother's duffel and scooped his own back up and followed his father into the parking lot.

"Were you calling someone who can help us find Sammy?" Dean asked quietly as he put his duffel into the trunk with his father's- he refused to give up his brother's- and went to the front passenger's seat.

John didn't answer until they were pulling out of the parking lot- not even stopping to check out- and then nodded to his son, "I hope so."


	6. Chapter Six

Dean stared at the rambling saloon sitting in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by pale, dry grass, appearing to crouch on the edge of the dusty road. Its wooden exterior was rough and silvered by the wind and sun, a hand-painted sign, slightly off-kilter proclaimed the building to be none other than 'Harvelle's Roadhouse'. The parking lot was nothing more than a square of crushed vegetation outlined with fist-sized rocks beside the Roadhouse.

John pulled the Impala into the lot and killed the engine. Besides a rusting blue minivan, the classic Chevy was the only other vehicle.

Dean unbuckled his seatbelt and put a hand on the door handle, more than ready to meet this mysterious person who could help them find his brother. He had tried to ask his father about him (or her, he reminded himself) during the fourteen-hour long ride but John had been as tight-lipped as ever. It seemed that even now, the name of Sam's would-be savior was under a need-to-know basis.

John reached out and put a restraining hand on Dean's knee, preventing him from leaving the car.

"Dad? What are you doing?" Dean asked, annoyed.

"Stay here a minute," John said quietly and Dean sat back.

"Dad, what is it?" he asked, suddenly worried for his father.

"I just need you to be quiet for a second," John answered and Dean frowned. It wasn't like he'd been a chatterbox the entire drive here.

Dean impatiently checked his watch and looked at the door of the Roadhouse. No one was coming out to greet them. Dean wasn't sure if that was a bad sign or not. He had an idea that whoever his father had been talking to on the phone last night, they weren't a fan of John Winchester.

Taking a deep breath, John unfastened his own seatbelt and opened his door. Dean scrambled out of the car; one hand wrapped around the straps of his brother's duffel, and followed his father up the rickety wooden porch.

John didn't even pause to knock and stepped inside the bar's cool interior. The first thing Dean noticed was the smell- stale beer and sawdust and greasy food- that was not wholly unpleasant. The second thing he noticed was the middle-aged woman pointing a shotgun at his father's head.

"Hello Ellen," John said calmly, one hand splayed against Dean's chest to prevent him from pulling his own weapon.

"John," she replied and lowered the shotgun, reluctantly.

The three stood silently, awkwardly for a moment before Ellen Harvelle spoke again.

"This must be Dean," she asked and the young man nodded and held his hand out for her to shake.

At first Dean didn't think Ellen was going to take the offer but then she did, pumping his hand twice before letting go. Dean was surprised by her strong grip.

"I'm sorry about what happened to Sam," she continued, "I'll help any way I can."

Ellen turned to the bar and stowed the shotgun under the counter before grabbing three beers.

The trio sat down at one of the wooden tables and after a healthy swig of brew, John told the woman everything they knew about Sam's kidnapping.

Ellen frowned once John was finished, "Black market, eh?"

Dean nodded, "That's what the FBI thinks."

"I think I know the very person who can help you," Ellen smiled a little- at Dean, she didn't look at John- and stood.

"Wait, you mean you can't help us?" Dean asked dejectedly.

"I just run a roadside saloon," Ellen said, "But I do have some tricks up my sleeve."

Both Winchesters watched as she made her way back toward the bar and down a hallway that led deeper into the Roadhouse.

Dean heard a blare of music- Muse, he recognized- coming from somewhere in the recesses of the building and then footsteps and the occasional grumble that was cut off sharply.

Dean nearly laughed when he saw the young man accompanying Ellen into the main room. He was thin and tall- though not as tall as Sam, Dean noticed- and wore brown construction boots, old blue jeans with the knees torn out of them and a sleeveless red and black plaid shirt. He had a laptop computer under one arm and one of the best mullets Dean had ever seen.

"Him?" John asked incredulously, "He's going to help us find Sam? He looks like a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie!"

"Don't hate," the hillbilly said and sat down in Ellen's vacated chair.

"Meet Ash," Ellen introduced them.

Dean shook the young man's hand and decided that he liked the guy right away.

"Ellen told me that you're looking for someone selling organs illegally online," Ash said and looked to the Winchesters for confirmation.

"The police think they kidnapped my brother," Dean said and John nodded.

"Hmm," Ash opened his laptop and logged in, "This is going to be tricky, they'll keep their sites hidden from 'normal' folks."

"Can you do it though?" Dean leaned over the table, nearly knocking over his bottle of beer.

"Oh, I can do it alright," Ash said, "I'll find your brother but it will take many hours and many cups of coffee, amigo."

Dean gritted his teeth but nodded. He knew that they wouldn't just magically find Sam but that didn't make the wait any less difficult.

The younger Winchester anxiously sucked down the rest of his beer while John stood and went to talk quietly with Ellen by the bar. Dean didn't try and listen into the conversation even though he would have liked to know why the Harvelle woman seemed so cold toward his father; his thoughts were too focused on his brother. Dean set Sam's duffel in his lap and grasped both straps as he watched Ash frown in concentration over his computer screen.

SPN

Sam looked up tiredly when the door to his room opened and two orderlies entered. Sitting up, Sam allowed the men to grab hold of his arms and pull him up. His knees wobbled dangerously but he didn't fall.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked in a whispery voice. He received no answer.

"Do I finally get to go home today?" Sam asked and smiled. He knew there was no way Bates was going to let him leave but the idea of going home made him feel a little better.

Again Sam was all but ignored.

They walked down the familiar hallway and stepped into the elevator. Sam's stomach somersaulted when the lift went down and he gagged, trying not to puke.

Sam's heart fell when the elevator doors opened and he saw that they were heading toward the operating room.

"Please," he cried, "Don't do this; I can't take anymore. No! Let me go!"

Sam began to struggle and thrash as the orderlies led him toward the double doors.

Tears sprang out in Sam's eyes and fell down his face unheeded, "Let me go! Please! Get off me!"

The orderlies shoved him through the doorway and Sam looked to the mad doctor.

"Not again," Sam begged, "Please… please."

Bates ignored him, told the orderlies to get Sam onto the table, and began to prepare for surgery with the help of the nurse.

Sam struggled against the straps holding him down but his movements were weak. He knew it wouldn't do him any good.

The last thing Sam saw before passing out was Bates' grinning face above him.

SPN

Dean lifted his head tiredly from the table when he felt someone flick his ear.

"Hey! What the he-" Dean stopped when he saw a girl standing beside him. She was slim and blonde with blue eyes and a scowl to match her mother's.

She planted a hand on her hip and stared at Dean as though he was a rawhead or some equally unpleasant monster.

"Who are you?" she rapped out, tapping one foot clad in a ballerina-style shoe.

"Dean Winchester and you?"

The girl huffed as if that was the world stupidest question, "Jo."

Dean smiled, "Well Jo, you don't look old enough to drink so make myself scarce if I were you before my parents found me in here."

Jo rolled her eyes, "My mom already knows I'm here."

"Huh," Dean shrugged and was about to close his eyes again when the teen grabbed Sam's duffel off his knees.

"What's in here?" she asked and began rummaging through the bag.

"Give that back!" Dean exclaimed, ready to reclaim the duffel by any means possible.

Jo smiled and pulled the bag out of Dean's grasp.

"Oh," she mocked, "Is there something in here I shouldn't see?"

"You little bitch! Give me that!" Dean snapped; all his stress and worry over his brother coming through.

The girl looked slightly shocked at Dean's language and raced towards the bar. She ducked behind the counter and Dean lunged after her.

With nowhere to run, Jo kicked out at Dean, catching him in the stomach.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean growled and grabbed the sleeve of Jo's shirt.

The girl let out a bloodcurdling scream and within seconds footsteps were sounding toward the two fighting kids.

"Dean! What in God's name are you doing?" John's shocked voice brought the struggle to a standstill.

Dean looked over his shoulder to see his father and Ellen standing in the entrance to the bar, looking nearly horrified.

Dean immediately released Jo and held his hands up, "I wasn't going to do anything! She stole Sam's duffel!"

John peered at the girl and saw that she indeed was holding onto his youngest son's duffel bag.

"Why did you bring it in here in the first place, Dean? It belongs in the car!" John snapped angrily and Dean felt his eyes prick with tears.

"Joanna Beth Harvelle," Ellen scolded, "You know better than that!"

The teen lowered her head, "Sorry Mama."

"What floors me is why you two were fighting like a couple of wild animals," Ellen continued, glaring particularly at Dean.

"She wouldn't give Sam's duffel back," Dean answered lamely.

John crossed his arms over his chest, "Dean, she's sixteen. You be the mature one."

"Jo, give Dean back the bag," Ellen told her daughter, "And apologize."

"Sorry Dean," the girl said and actually blushed. She shoved the duffel in Dean's direction. He grabbed it up and held it to his chest as though the bag was actually his baby brother.

As the two youngsters extracted themselves from behind the bar John shook his head, "Dean's usually better than that, I swear. Maybe we should call it a night, get some sleep. We passed a motel on our way in."

Ellen nodded, "That's probably a good idea. I'll call you if Ash finds anything."

W

John didn't say anything more to his son as the checked into the small motel down the road from the Roadhouse. He noticed that Dean kept his brother's duffel close by but thought better of telling his son to put it in the trunk. John just hoped that that bag wouldn't be their last connection to Sam; he didn't think that Dean would be able to handle it if his brother never came back.

Dean didn't even bother brushing his teeth; he just slipped off his jacket and boots, set Sam's duffel on top of the sheets beside him- even though they were older now Sam and he would often have to share a bed so John could have his own- and went to sleep.

John sat down on his bed and watched his son for a long moment.

Please God, let us find Sam; he prayed to a God he didn't even believe in but sometimes when things got tough, John couldn't help it. It somehow made him feel better to talk to someone, even if they didn't really exist.

W

Dean stared at his half-finished bottle of beer with disinterest. They had been at the Roadhouse for four days and Ash was no closer to finding Sam.

Despite the techie's warning that it would take some time, Dean was beginning to wonder if his brother was lost forever.

After their initial bad meeting, Jo and Dean managed to get along. She talked a lot about the hunters that came into the Roadhouse and since Dean wasn't in the mood to chat, he listened.

Jo tried to be supportive, "Don't worry, Ash is the best. He'll find your brother in no time."

Dean just grunted in response.

The girl scuffed the toe of her shoe against the hardwood floor, "I am really sorry about earlier. I didn't know the bag belonged to your brother."

Dean didn't say anything but took a gulp of beer.

"We don't get too many kids in here, you know," she continued, twirling a strand of her blonde hair, "I was just curious."

Dean smirked, "Curiosity killed the cat, you know."

Jo huffed, "You want another beer?"

Dean nodded, "Keep 'em coming."

Jo shook her head and chuckled. She knew how Dean felt. She'd lost her Dad when she was little and though it wasn't quite the same, she could sympathize.

I hope you find his little brother, Ash; Jo thought, he's not right without him.


	7. Chapter Seven

"Eureka!"

Dean jumped up at the triumphant cry and ran to where Ash was sitting. Standing behind the MIT drop-out, Dean stared at the picture on the screen.

It was Sam. He was sure of it. It just had to be.

John had given Ash a photo of Sam to use as a reference while he searched and it appeared to have paid off.

"Dad! Come here! Dad!" Dean shouted in Ash's ear and John came running.

John let out a breath and peered at the photograph. He'd know his son anywhere. That was Sam.

Dean frowned; Sam looked a little pale and his green eyes glared hatred at whoever had snapped his picture but what disturbed Dean the most was the fact that someone had shaved his brother's head.

Dean stared at Sam's nearly bald scalp and felt tears well up in his eyes. Sam never let anyone touch his hair. Even when John had demanded Sam cut it short like Dean's, he'd refused as though it would mean the end of the world if he so much as had it trimmed.

Dean clenched his hands into fists. His eyes flicked to the writing that was beneath his brother's picture.

"What is that?" he asked Ash. He recognized his brother's height and weight, and had his approximate age. There was also something that looked like a serial number and Sam's blood type.

"Sam's specs," Ash explained, "Everything about him that would interest a buyer."

Dean gulped, "Buyer?"

Ash peered over his shoulder at Dean, "Yeah, okay, the way it works is like this: some rich guy is dying of lung cancer or something and so he finds this website- cleverly disguised as a vacuum sales ad- where he can look at all the kids he can choose from and get himself a brand new set of lungs."

Ash moved away from Sam's picture to land on a girl- her head was also shaved- with blue eyes.

"Wait, how many people do they have?" Dean asked, horrified.

"Well, you see this?" Ash pointed beneath the girl's specs to the word TERMINATED in red font.

"Uh huh," Dean said, not liking where this was going.

"This means that she's dead," Ash said solemnly.

"So what do they do? Pick out a kid and what, have their organs shipped by FedEx?" John asked.

"Nothing that shady," Ash responded, "No, apparently they can 'window shop' if they want. I'm pretty sure that means they can take a look at the kids personally."

"Oh my God," Dean muttered and put his fist against his mouth, bile rising in his throat.

"Well, do you know where it is?" John asked and Ash frowned.

"Uh, no," he admitted, "But I'm getting there."

John turned away and ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

Dean pushed Ash's fingers out of the way and returned to the picture of his brother.

"We're almost there, man," Ash told him, "We'll get him."

Dean nodded; the sight of Sam with his hair chopped off made his throat tighten. He turned away and went to John.

The older Winchester was breathing heavily and Dean knew he was trying to hold back his own tears.

"Dad? Dad! We're going to get Sammy," Dean said in the same authoritative voice John often used when he needed his sons to obey an order without question.

John nodded and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

"I, uh, I have to go call Deke," he muttered and left the main room.

Dean was left standing alone and hoping that he wouldn't be seeing TERMINATED below his brother's specs anytime soon.

W

Dean startled awake, a sorrowful cry on his lips dying as soon as he opened his eyes. It was dark and quiet in the motel room. The only sounds were Dean's own harsh breathing. The last vestiges of a nightmare drifted away from Dean like so much smoke and he was left with only an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

Sitting up, Dean wiped a hand over his sweaty face and squinted across the room to where John should be sleeping in his own bed.

"Dad?" Dean called quietly, needing some comfort from his father.

There was no reply from the older Winchester. Dean peered at the red numbers of the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand between the beds and saw it was only two-thirty in the morning.

Dean reached out behind himself and grabbed his brother's duffel.

"Don't worry, Sammy," he mumbled as he hugged the bag to his chest, "We're going to find you. Just hang in there a little longer."

Dean closed his eyes while his heart beat returned to its normal pace and then called to his father again.

"Dad?"

John didn't so much as grunt sleepily in annoyance.

"Dad? You there?" Dean asked and reached over to turn on the bedside lamp. Yellow light washed the two beds in a radiant pool but it was clear that the eldest Winchester was absent.

Dean looked over his shoulder towards the bathroom but the door stood ajar, the room dark.

"Dad!" Dean cried and stood up quickly, even though it obvious his father wasn't in the motel room.

The young man stumbled toward the front door but paused when he spotted a page from the motel's stationary sitting on the table, weighted down with a beer bottle.

Gone to see a friend. She'll be able to tell us about Sam. Don't try to follow me.

Dean grabbed the paper and crumbled it up, "Fuck!"

He went to the window and saw that the Impala was missing from its parking spot.

"FUCK!" Dean shouted and ran a hand through his hair.

Rifling through his own duffel bag, he grabbed his phone and hit John's number on speed-dial.

The eldest Winchester's phone rang and rang and rang. Dean hung up.

What are you doing, Dad? Dean thought angrily. You need to be here! Not going out on some social call! You need to be here for Sam!

With nothing to do this early in the morning, Dean went back to his bed and sat down. He pulled Sam's duffel onto his lap and stared at his father's empty bed until the sun began to rise in the east.

SPN

Two days before John Winchester took leave of his eldest son for the home of an unknown friend, Doctor Arthur Bates stood behind the one-way mirror with his most recent client. Mr. Pettigrew was in his seventies and in need of a kidney. He was far too impatient to wait for a proper donor because his advanced age made him less of a priority than other people with renal failure.

"They are all a match to you," Bates flourished a hand at the five young men and women beyond the mirror. The room was bare of furniture; its floors were white tiles, and its walls were a dusty grey.

Four of the young people were sitting, their eyes downcast and sad. The only one on his feet was M-BSPN666. He was staring daggers at the two hidden men and Bates had the odd feeling that the boy knew exactly what they were discussing.

"They are kind of sickly looking, Doctor," Pettigrew complained and Bates bristled.

"I assure you they are all in perfect health," he contested.

Pettigrew rubbed his chin, "I won't have any unpleasant surprises with them, will I?"

"Unlike my competitors I do not have prostitutes and junkies snatched off the streets," Bates said smugly, "That is why you came to me, is it not?"

Pettigrew nodded, "You did show the best product. I wouldn't trust a kidney from some wino."

"You see!" Bates spread his hands, smiling, "Now, which do you prefer?"

Pettigrew peered myopically through the glass. He saw the boy that had first caught his attention when he had been perusing the display on the Internet.

"I like him," the old man pointed at the boy with green eyes who had been taken from Kettering.

"That'll be three hundred and twenty grand," Bates said calmly.

"Three hundred and twenty for one kidney!" Pettigrew exclaimed indignantly, "That's outrageous! Maybe for two but not-"

Bates didn't even blink. He knew that the old coot had more than enough money.

"Mr. Pettigrew, in my line of work you quickly find out that if you buy cheap you get cheap."

"Besides," Bates continued, "He is a universal donor and as such, a rarity. I require compensation should something go wrong during the surgery."

Grumbling about the extreme prices, Pettigrew fished his checkbook out and scrawled one out to Bates.

The doctor smirked, "If I am too expensive for you, feel free to have your name added to a hospital wait-list."

Pettigrew glared at Bates but said nothing.

"When can I expect my kidney?" he demanded rudely.

"I can do the surgery in a matter of hours and the kidney should be in the hospital of your choice by tomorrow morning," Bates informed him.

That seemed to brighten Pettigrew up somewhat and he shook Bates' hand.

"Pleasure doing business with you," the doctor said and showed his client the way out. The only thing on Bates' mind that evening was the ten thousand dollar check tucked away in his pocket- a small percent of which would be destined for William Findlay but the rest was solely his- and the thought of just how much money M-BSPN666 could really get him.

SPN

Sam knew something was different the moment the orderlies dragged him into the operating room.

Instead of just one additional nurse there were four and Bates seemed even more excited than usual.

"What's going on? What are you going to do?" Sam asked, unable to hide the fear in his voice.

Bates smiled at him from beneath his paper mask. Sam balked and tried to pry himself free of the orderlies' hold.

He's going to kill me, Sam thought; this is it. He's going to put that mask over my face and I'll never wake up again.

"Get him on the table," Bates instructed the orderlies, "And make sure he is lying on his side."

Sam struggled as much as he could, kicking at the orderlies' shins and punching out with his fists.

"No! No! Don't do this! Leave me alone! Please don't kill me!" Sam begged and Bates paused, chuckling.

"Silly boy," he chastised, "I have no intentions of killing you. All that is going to happen is that you will wake up slightly lighter than before."

That did nothing to ease Sam's panic and he thrashed wildly. Tears streamed down his face as the orderlies heaved him up onto the table and rolled him onto his right side.

Once Sam was strapped securely to the table, Bates approached him, holding his glove-clad hands up high.

"Please," Sam begged, vision blurry with tears, "I don't want this. Please don't hurt me anymore."

Bates grabbed the gas mask and pushed it down over Sam's mouth and nose. Sam tried holding his breath, anything to stop from passing out but one of the nurses appeared with a needle. She put a restraining hand on Sam's arm- already pinned by the straps holding him down- and injected him with anesthetic.

Sam's vision grew bright and Doctor Bates appeared to have a corona of light around his head. Suddenly dark spots appeared in Sam's vision and grew larger and larger until they completely blinded him.

SPN

Dean trudged dejectedly up the porch steps and walked into the Roadhouse.

Ash was already sitting at a table, laptop in front of him and beer in hand.

"Want one?" the young man asked Dean and after consulting his watch- it wasn't even eight o'clock- he nodded.

"What the heck?" he shrugged and sat down as Ash got him a brew.

"Where's your Dad?" Ash asked as he handed Dean his beer.

The young hunter shrugged, "Who knows? He left a note this morning saying he was going to see some friend. Stole the car too. Had to take a cab here."

Ash frowned in sympathy, "That's a big bummer."

Dean smiled sadly, "You said it."

After taking a deep drink of beer, he asked if Ash had any luck in locating the organ harvesters.

The ex-MIT student shook his head, "Nothing so far. But I'm still looking. If other assholes can find this place, than I can too."

Dean hoped that Ash would be able to find where Sam was and they weren't just on some wild goose chase.

"Is he still-" Dean stopped and Ash looked up.

"Sam's still in the game," he answered quietly and turned his laptop around so that Dean could see the photograph of his brother, no TERMINATED sign beneath his specs.

Dean wasn't sure how long people like that kept their victims. Surely it wouldn't be indefinitely, he guessed until they found someone who needed a major organ. Dean hoped that no rich snob needed a heart or liver.

He stared at the scarred wooden tabletop, imagining what could be happening to his brother and not liking any of it.

The sound of Ash clearing his throat brought Dean back from his morbid thoughts.

The techie was holding his beer bottle up, "Here's to finding Sam."

Dean grimaced and clinked his bottle against Ash's. He didn't want to jinx it but he amended Ash's toast to the hope of finding Sam alive.


	8. Chapter Eight

Sam's breaths came in shallow bursts. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. His side felt as if someone had dumped acid on it. Sam had woken up on the floor of his room, in agony. He had tried to stand up but that had been out of the question; the movement pulled at the stitches holding the incision together under layers of gauze bandages. Even when he'd attempted to get to his hands and knees and crawl to the cot, Sam had found that nearly impossible.

Whimpering in pain, Sam had only managed a few feet before giving up and sinking to the cold tile floor again. He had rolled onto his right side and stayed that way, trying to breathe through the deep, searing agony.

Sam didn't even look up when a hand slid a tray of food into his room. He didn't have the energy to crawl to the door to get it. His stomach boiled with nausea- a side-effect of the anesthetic, Sam guessed- so that even the thought of the hospital fare caused him to give a series of meaty burps that threatened to turn into retching.

Sam rolled over onto his back, tears leaking from his eyes at the pain in his left side, so that he wouldn't have to look at the tray.

He wished Dean was with him. Dean could always make him feel better no matter how badly he was hurting. Sam's brother would joke and tell dumb stories to try and take his mind off the pain and just let his younger sibling know he cared about him.

"No one cares about me here," Sam whispered out loud.

Sam sniffed and raised his right hand to wipe his face, "I want my brother. I want my Dad."

He began to cry, the force of the sobs tugging on the stitches and making Sam cry even harder. Curling up on his right side despite the pain, Sam pulled his knees up and did something he hadn't done since he was a child- he put his thumb in his mouth, the familiar gesture comforting.

Closing his eyes, Sam waited for the pain to either subside or kill him. He really didn't care which happened first; it was clear that his family wasn't coming for him and he only wished he would die before Bates could take anymore from him.

SPN

John stumbled into the Roadhouse two day after he'd bailed on Dean, looking haggard and worn.

"Dad! Where the hell have you been? What the hell were you thinking?" Dean immediately questioned his father before John had a chance to clear the saloon's threshold.

"I was thinking about Sam!" John snapped and Dean hesitated.

"Where were you?" the younger Winchester asked, no more heat in his voice.

"I went to see an old friend," John said brusquely, "Can I get a beer?"

Jo- who had been talking to Dean before his father entered the saloon- went around to the bar and fetched the old hunter a cold one.

John thanked the teen and sat down in the nearest seat. Dean sat down at the table across from his father and looked at him expectantly.

"Her name is Missouri Mosley," John said after taking a healthy swig of beer, "She's a psychic."

Dean's eyebrows shot up, "Psychic? What has that got to do with Sammy?"

John fished a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. Dean saw that it was the acceptance letter to Stanford.

"That was in Sam's duffel," Dean began; incensed that his father had gone through his brother's things.

"And it wasn't easy to get," John commented sourly, "Not with you watching the damn thing during the day and sleeping with it at night."

Dean sat back and folded his arms over his chest, "Why the letter?"

"Missouri can sometimes tell things about people if she touches some possession of theirs, usually it has to be something they have touched recently," John explained, "I figured your brother looked at this thing every damn day since getting it."

The words coming out of John's mouth were not spoken in anger; instead they were filled with sadness and regret.

Dean took a deep breath, "Did she sense anything, or whatever?"

John rubbed a hand down his face, "Sam's alive, Missouri was sure of that but… he's not in a good way."

Dean frowned, "What does that mean?"

Sam had been nabbed by some crazies who harvested peoples' organs so of course he wasn't in a 'good way'.

John's dark eyes filled with tears, "She sensed his aura was fading."

Dean's heart skipped a beat, "And?"

John licked his lips and took another swig of beer, "Missouri thinks Sam might be dying."

"No," Dean breathed, "No, he can't! Sammy can't die! We have to rescue him!"

"I know son, but Missouri said-" John began and Dean stood up angrily, seeming to tower over his father.

"Fuck that! Sam is not going to die! Missouri's wrong," Dean insisted.

John's gaze fell to the letter from Stanford, "I never should have let him go."

Dean shook his head, "No Dad. This was me; I should have known something was up. I'm his brother. Sam always used to tell me everything. I should have said something that night but I didn't… I couldn't… I was just too much of a chickenshit to speak up."

"He just wouldn't listen to me," John whispered and both Winchesters lapsed into silence.

Father and son looked up when Ash entered the main room, laptop open in his hands and a wide grin on his face.

"What are you two sad-sacks so down in the dumps about?" he asked cheekily.

Dean looked to the techie first, "Did you…? You didn't?"

"I did, amigo," Ash said confidently, "I know exactly where Sam is."

Chairs hit the ground when both Dean and John ran for Ash, squishing him between them as they peered at the computer screen.

"Dunhill Psychiatric Hospital?" Dean asked, "They have Sam in a nuthouse?"

Ash nodded, "According to this, the 'product' is housed in a place called the North Hall."

John grabbed the computer from Ash and set it down on top of the bar.

"I did some research on Dunhill and found out that the North Hall was once the residence for long-term and violent patients. It still is, but only on paper so the black market can harvest its organs in privacy. There also might be corruption among the faculty at large as well but-" Ash began but stopped when the Winchesters started for the door.

"Where are you going?" he called.

"Going to get Sammy," Dean replied, the answer obvious to him. Ash shook his head.

"You can't just walk in there," the techie protested.

"Why not?" John asked venomously.

"If these guys catch wind of anything and I mean anything fishy they'll pack up and disappear and you'll never see Sam again," Ash told them.

John wasn't convinced, "They'll never see us coming."

"The two of you can't do this… not alone anyway," Ash continued, "At least let Ellen call up some more hunters so you can take these guys out once and for all."

John paused. He hadn't been too sure about the young hillbilly but he had to admit he had a point. Back in Vietnam, not knowing how many enemies you were up against could spell the end for even the most seasoned soldier.

"All right," John allowed, "One day, that's all and then we're going to get my boy."

"Excellent choice, sir," Ash said in a fake British accent as if John had been deciding on a particular brandy instead of waiting twenty-four hours to rescue his youngest son.

Dean and John looked at one another for a moment and couldn't help but smile. They were going to get Sam back. Everything was going to be alright again.

SPN

Sam shivered even as sweat ran down his face in greasy rivulets. His temperature rose dangerously with fever and his thoughts turned muggy. He could feel unhealthy heat radiating out from the incision and the pain seemed bone-deep.

Sam could barely move when a nurse entered his room and approached him. She took out a medical thermometer and crouched down beside him.

"Where are you going to put that?" Sam asked- at least he thought he did, he wasn't sure if he'd even opened his mouth- and tried to squirm away when the woman pulled down the back of his drawstring pants.

"No," Sam protested in a raspy voice that he hardly recognized as his own.

God, he was just so hot… and cold. How could he be both hot and cold at the same time? Was that even possible? He wanted water- needed water- and a big wooly blanket like the one his Dad kept in the Impala's trunk for emergencies.

Sam was just about to ask the nurse if she would go get the blanket from the trunk of his father's Chevy but groaned in pain instead. He closed his eyes and took as deep a breath as he could. When Sam opened them again he was alone; the nurse had left. Sniffling with pain and embarrassment, Sam pulled his pants back up and curled into a ball.

He dozed fretfully for a while, waking in time to see Doctor Bates standing over him, needle in hand.

"Please… some… water," Sam begged hoarsely but the doctor ignored him. The physician picked up Sam's left arm and injected him with the liquid in the needle.

Sam watched through darkening vision as Bates left the room without looking back.

Maybe that was a lethal dose of morphine, Sam wondered- hoped- and chuckled humourlessly.

Sam slept some more and when he awoke Dean was with him. His older brother was sitting against the wall beside the door, legs bent with his hands dangling between his knees.

"D'n!" Sam cried happily, his voice cracking and he coughed harshly for a minute.

Dean smiled, his hazel eyes crinkling at the edges.

"You thought we'd forgotten about you," he said, his expression still happy but his voice was hard.

"But you're here now! That's all that matters!" Sam tried to sit up, cried out in pain and resigned himself to continue lying on the floor.

"Yeah, I'm here now," Dean answered in a distracted voice.

"Please help me up," Sam held his arms out to his brother but Dean ignored the gesture.

"I just came to say goodbye, Sam," Dean said and he was no longer smiling. He looked angry.

"What do you mean? You have to take me with-" Sam started coughing again, deep hacking coughs that made his lungs burn.

Dean shook his head, "You left us, Sam. You decided that Dad and I weren't good enough for you."

Sam's eyes went wide with shock, "That's not true, Dean!"

"We needed you, Sam, and you just didn't care!" Dean snapped, "You didn't want to help us save people anymore, you didn't want to help us find the thing that killed Mom!"

"Dean, please," Sam begged, tears welling up in his eyes.

"No Sam, not this time," Dean stood up and dusted his hands off, "You made the choice to have a 'normal' life and this is what you got. I'm finished with babysitting you."

Sam struggled to sit up again, fighting through the pain and managed it. He felt something in his left side tear and a sudden warm gush of liquid soaked his shirt.

"Dean," Sam pleaded, "Don't go, please. I think I'm dying."

Sam watched in horror as Dean shook his head, "I have to Sam."

"No! Dean! Dean! Come back! Please!" Sam shouted as loudly as he could. His brother opened the door and stepped out into the hall, locking the door after himself.

"Dean! Please! Don't leave me alone!" Sam continued crying and slumped onto his left side.

Sam stared despondently at the pool of crimson liquid that was quickly growing larger around him for a moment before he closed his eyes and fell into darkness.

SPN

Bates thanked his lucky stars that he hadn't lost the boy with the green eyes. It had been a close one, for sure, first with the infection and then the fool tearing out nearly all of his sutures.

He was lucky that Elridge and Peters had been on their way to bring another kid in for blood extraction and had heard the boy frantically calling out for someone named Dean.

Despite that little speed bump, M-BSPN666 seemed to be recovering quickly and Bates couldn't wait to try out a new technique on him.

He had received a shipment of synthetic corneas from some close friends of his and they had asked him to try some human experimentation with them. They had only been tested on animals so far and the results had come back positive. If the corneas worked on human subjects than they could shrink the number of people waiting for donors. Even though Bates was in the organ harvesting business, he specialized in larger organs so his income was not threatened by the possible success of the synthetic corneas. Besides, eye transplants didn't sell well on the black market anyway, they were far too delicate and complicated- too many things could go wrong and then the client would be very, very unhappy. And an unhappy client was never a good thing. They could go to the authorities and then it would be all over.

Bates had decided to use the boy with green eyes as a guinea pig- somewhat reluctantly- because the procedure was relatively harmless and would likely not put the boy's life in danger. Besides, if the corneas worked, they would be no different than a natural transplant.

Arthur Bates stepped outside of North Hall to enjoy the crisp autumn air and the orange and red leaves carpeting the lawn of the Dunhill Psychiatric Hospital, singing The Who's 'I Can See For Miles' under his breath as he went.

SPN

Sam fought weakly against the orderlies. His legs still wobbled traitorously and his head swam when he was suddenly being forced to stand after lying down for so long.

"Please, it's too soon,' Sam begged, "I'm not ready."

As usual, the orderlies were immune to Sam's pleading. Sam stopped talking, deciding to conserve his energy and instead tried to tug his arms out of the orderlies' hold.

Sam almost couldn't believe it when the elevator opened up on the floor where the operating room was.

Tears of fear sprang out in Sam's eyes and he whimpered. He was marched through the double doors and greeted by Bates.

"Today is a very special day!" the doctor informed him. Sam cringed away from the man.

"No, please," Sam begged and renewed his struggles, "Don't take anything else!"

"You're going to rip your stitches again if you continue on like that," Bates admonished, completely ignoring Sam.

The orderlies got the young man onto the table, forcing him onto his back and strapped him down. Tears leaked from Sam's eyes as he stared at the bright overhead light.

"This shouldn't hurt," Bates said as his masked face appeared above Sam.

"Please let me go!" Sam choked out and wriggled uncomfortably when the doctor forced the gas mask over his face.

The bright light above seemed to fill up the entire ceiling, its rays stretching out in a rainbow of colours for a long second before Sam lost consciousness.


	9. Chapter Nine

Sam woke slowly, shivering and groggy from the anesthetic. His mouth was a dry as cotton and his head pounded. His eyes were throbbing and felt two sizes too big for their sockets.

Sam took a deep breath to try and calm himself but let out a hacking cough instead. He leaned forward, realizing that he was sitting up- someone had propped his back against the wall- on the cot in his room.

Something's wrong, something's wrong with my eyes; the realization caused fear to fill up Sam's belly like ice water.

Trying to open his eyes, Sam frowned- the lids wouldn't cooperate and he felt something like tape tugging on his cheeks. His heart began to race as the fear began to turn into panic.

"No," Sam whispered, "God, please no. Please, please."

Tears pooled in his eyes and slipped down his cheeks. Sam tried to lift his hand to wipe away the wetness on his face when he realized that he couldn't move his arms, they were wrapped around him, pinned down.

Sam began to shift uncomfortably, frantically in the confining blanket.

No, Sam thought as he heard the metallic clink of buckles and the squeak of leather, it's not a blanket, it's a jacket.

It's a straightjacket.

For one moment Sam entertained the idea that he might actually be insane and everything that had happened could be just a really vivid hallucination but quickly dismissed it- the past weeks had been far too real to be a delusion.

"That's just stupid," Sam croaked, "If I'm crazy that doesn't explain hunting with Dad and Dean."

Sam started to laugh- helplessly, hopelessly- even as tears continued to stream from his swollen eyes.

Sam leaned back against the wall, nervously shifting his trapped arms and drifted into an exhausted slumber.

W

Sam woke, frowning, and wiggled uncomfortably on the cot. He had to pee.

"Shit," Sam muttered. His eyes didn't feel any better than they had when he'd first woken up from the anesthesia and his headache seemed only to have gotten worse.

Now the call of nature was adding to his discomfort. Even if Sam managed to stand up and find his way across the room to the bedpan, his arms were pinned, preventing him from pulling his pants down.

Sam didn't really see many options. He could wait for someone- an orderly or a nurse- to check up on him (doubtful) and take off the straightjacket or he could go in his pants like a little kid.

The thought of wetting himself caused Sam's pale cheeks to flush with colour.

It's no more embarrassing than having a thermometer shoved where the sun don't shine, Sam told himself; besides, it wouldn't really be my fault, I don't have any choice in the matter.

Still, Sam decided to hold on and see if anyone would come.

He waited a long time.

SPN

Dean looked up, surprised, when State Detective Deacon Kaylor walked into the Roadhouse.

For a minute the officer looked uncertain that he'd come to the right place as he took in the small group of hunters before catching sight of John and making a bee-line for him.

"What are you doing here, Deke?" the eldest Winchester asked, looking genuinely concerned.

"I want to help," Deke said simply, "I want to see these guys put away as much as you do."

Before either John or Deacon could say anything else, Caleb Blacker spoke up, "More like put down than put away!"

Deacon Kaylor's eyebrows rose in shock but John grumbled, "Ignore him."

"Let me help, John," Deke continued, "I can have the authorities on Dunhill so fast it will make those bastards' heads spin."

John frowned; he didn't want the state police or, God forbid, the Feds involved. If that happened there would be hundreds of questions, hours of interrogations- they might even want to talk to Sam- and that all sent up red flags for the hunter.

"Deke," John began, "I really appreciate you doing this. I do, I mean, we haven't even seen each other since the war ended but I want to… no, I need to do things my way. I'm in a dangerous position here, you understand. Just… if you want to bring the Feds or whoever in on this, that's fine but let me get Sam and put some distance between Dunhill and my family. That's all I ask."

The Ohio State Detective mulled over the proposition for a moment before nodding.

"I think I can do that," he said finally and John smiled, "Let me introduce you to some of my friends from work."

SPN

Sam stiffened when he heard the sound of his door being unlocked. Two sets of footsteps marched across the tile floor and strong arms grabbed him and pulled him up.

"Bates wants this off before we take 'im down," one man- Elridge- grunted right in Sam's ear.

The youngest Winchester remained silent as the orderly fiddled with the buckles and straps and quickly extricated his arms from the jacket.

Sam couldn't help but breathe a small sigh of relief.

"You're not gonna give us any trouble, now are you?" the other orderly asked and Sam started to shake his head but stopped when a spike of pain drove itself through the top of his skull.

The orderlies grabbed Sam's arms and he staggered after them as he was led blindly down the hall.

The trio stopped and Sam felt his legs wobble weakly. He hadn't eaten anything since before Bates had taken his kidney and he was starving. He hoped that when the doctor was done with him, he'd get some food.

Sam was ushered into the elevator and stood between the two burly orderlies. After a moment, one of the men sniffed the air and made a sound of disgust.

"Smells like piss," the unknown orderly ground out and Sam bowed his head in shame.

The elevator pinged and Sam heard the door slide open. He was pulled down the hall- which hall? Was he going to the room with the dentist's chair or the operating room?- without putting up his usual fight. He didn't have the strength to fight. Not now.

The orderlies pushed the doors open and Bates' voice greeted Sam, "Ah, you're early! That's a first!"

Elridge grunted, "That's 'cause he didn't fight us."

"Hm," Bates said, "Seems you've finally learned to behave. Makes everything so much easier, yes?"

It took a moment before Sam realized the doctor wanted him to answer.

"Yes," Sam whispered, his heart hammering in his chest, making his eyes throb again.

Bates chuckled and the told the orderlies to get Sam in the chair. Sam allowed the men to guide him to the chair and then push him down so that he was sitting. He didn't fight when they grabbed his arms and strapped them down, either.

Sam jumped when he felt Bates' cold hands on his face, peeling away the medical tape that held the gauze patches over his eyes.

"Open," Bates ordered and Sam slowly slid his sore eyes open and saw… nothing. Well, not nothing, everything seemed to be hidden beneath a grey-white fog.

"Oh!" Bates exclaimed as he stared at the boy's once-green eyes. Now the irises were a pale, milky white. He took the penlight from his breast pocket and shone the beam in the boy's eyes, frowning slightly when his pupils failed to react.

"Oh," the doctor repeated as though the result was merely a mild disappointment instead of a life-changing disability.

Sam's hands clenched into fists and he began panting, nearly hyperventilating in panic.

I can't see! I'm blind! Please God let this be a nightmare! This can't be happening! What did I do wrong? What did I do to deserve this? Please, someone tell me!

Bates shone the light in Sam's eyes again, ignoring the tears which now streamed down the boy's face.

That's why his friends had asked him to try the corneas out on a human subject first- to prevent such unfortunate outcomes in the future.

Instead of taking any blood, Bates simply administered a dose of strong antibiotic and told the orderlies to take Sam downstairs to get cleaned up.

Sam was in a daze as he was practically dragged down the hall and into the elevator again. He sagged in the orderlies' grip but he didn't care.

"Maybe Bates should blind every kid," Elridge snickered, "It'd sure be a hell of a lot easier to control 'em."

The other orderly chuckled in response and jostled Sam's arm, "Sure worked with this 'un."

"As meek as a lamb, ain't ya?" Elridge mocked but Sam didn't have the strength to get angry.

Sam didn't really feel anything, just numb, as if all his insides had been scooped out.

He was jerked forward when the elevator reached the proper floor and he was pulled down a hallway that he couldn't see. The orderlies shoved through a pair of double doors and gestured to a couple of technicians- the same two who had processed Sam the night he'd first arrived.

"What do you want?" a new voice asked and Sam lifted his head slightly.

"Bates wants him cleaned up," Elridge told the technician, "Kid pissed himself."

"What's wrong with his eyes?" the female technician asked in a shocked and slightly disgusted voice.

"Bates felt like channeling his inner Frankenstein; what's it to you?" Elridge snapped, "Just do your job and send him back upstairs."

The sounds of receding footsteps alerted Sam to the fact that the orderlies were leaving. He flinched when he felt a gloved hand grab his chin and turn his head.

"C'mon," the second technician- a man- grumbled, "We don't have time to wait around for you to admire the good doctor's work all day."

The woman's hand moved from Sam's jaw to his arm while her partner took hold of his other arm.

Sam made no protest as he was led toward the shower stalls and the technicians took his soiled clothes off. A brisk shove sent Sam underneath the spray of the showerhead and he gasped in shock when hot water hit him. Minutes later two pairs of hands grabbed him and pulled him away from the shower, quickly dressing him in clean clothes.

In shock, Sam was hustled down the hall once again and into the elevator. He shivered as the water on his skin evaporated in the cool air and blinked his unseeing eyes, willing them to clear.

Sam didn't even remember the remainder of the trip to his room. He fell to his knees, cracking them painfully against the hard tile floor of his prison, and raised his hands to his eyes.

Sam touched his eyelids, fingertips brushing the lashes in horrified amazement that only two days before he had been able to see.

Sam felt tears roll down his cheeks and drip off his face but they didn't wash away the terrible whiteness that obscured his vision like an unending blizzard.

Curling up after what seemed like hours of desperate prodding and praying, Sam kept his hands over his eyes protectively, hoping that maybe, just maybe he'd have his sight back when he woke up. That this was just a temporary side-effect of the doctor's surgery and it would pass like the pain in his side was passing.

You don't really believe that, do you? Sam thought to himself.

No, I don't; Sam admitted and closed his eyes, falling into a fretful doze.

SPN

Ellen Harvelle followed the small group of hunters across the expansive grounds of the Dunhill Psychiatric Hospital. Nighttime dew coated the grass and soaked her jeans but Ellen hardly noticed.

What are you doing, girl? She thought, you're no hunter.

Although Ellen had never killed a wendigo or exorcised a demon, she felt a strong desire to help John and Dean rescue Sam.

Keeping her shotgun close, Ellen squinted at Caleb Blacker jogging ahead of her.

Ellen's late husband Bill had taught her to shoot, believing that she needed to know how to protect herself and their daughter whenever he went away on hunting trips.

Ellen had never even shot a living thing before, her victims had always been beer bottles and empty bean cans.

Why am I doing this? Ellen wondered as they snuck across a gravel path, following it away from the main building- Cathcart Hall- that she recalled from Ash's debriefing.

Ellen certainly wasn't doing this for John. She was just shy of hating the man. He had been with her Bill on his last hunt and although Ellen didn't doubt that John was telling the truth and that Bill's death had been a horrible accident, she couldn't find it herself to forgive him. John was a hunter, damn it! He had known better and his mistake had cost her husband his life.

No, Ellen wasn't doing this for John. She was doing this for Sam. Someone she had never met but felt the insatiate desire to help. Sam, who by all accounts had never done anyone a bad turn in his life, whose only crime was leaving for Stanford. No one deserved to be treated like livestock, to be dehumanized into a sack of organs with a price tag instead of a name.

Ellen found herself blinking tears out of her eyes. She couldn't imagine how she would feel if someone took her daughter and even though she might (almost) hate John Winchester she also pitied him. Whatever the man had done, he didn't deserve to have his youngest child cut up and thrown away like garbage.

Besides, she thought, there is enough evil in this world without men adding to the pile.

Ellen was starting to think that they had gotten lost or Ash had the wrong address when a large grey building rose up ahead of them.

Most of the lights in the windows were out but Ellen could see a dim yellow glow coming from the main floor. She tightened her grip on her shotgun and her eyes darted to the trees lining the path in search of enemies.

John made the signal to stop and the group halted instantly. Peering around shoulders and backs, Ellen saw that the lobby of North Hall appeared to be deserted except for a single nurse working the night-shift. She sat behind an old oak desk that was surrounded by a mesh cage.

Ellen recalled that the patients in this residence were supposed to be violent then turned as John spoke in a rapid-fire whisper.

"Deke and Joshua are going to go around the back and see if there's a way to get in that way," he told them- the two men in question nodded and slipped away into the darkness- before turning around with his head cocked to one side as though listening for a signal.

Ellen watched as Dean leaned in close to his father and muttered something; John shook his head and Dean rolled his shoulders before nodding.

An owl hooted twice before going silent and John motioned the group forward. Ellen raised her eyebrows; she hadn't expected the slightly ragtag group to be this organized.

Ellen ended up near the front of the rescue team and saw Joshua and Ohio State Detective Kaylor- a trusted friend of John's- standing beside a heavy grey door.

Joshua had the door propped open with his foot and he was grinning somewhat manically in the darkness.

John gave the two men thumbs up and opened the door wider, ushering everyone inside. Ellen stepped into the North Hall and saw that they were standing in a quiet hallway with speckled, tile floors and bare light blue walls. The corridor was dim and John motioned them to move toward the yellow light at the end of it- the lobby.

Ellen's heart began to beat harder as they crept forward, and tightened her grip on her gun.

"This is a restricted area! You can't be in here!" the nurse called as she saw the group advancing down the hall toward her.

Stepping into the lobby proper, John raised his gun and pointed it at the woman's face.

"Don't move. Where are the kids?" his voice was deadly calm and it sent shivers down Ellen's back.

The nurse narrowed her eyes at John but didn't reply.

The look on the eldest Winchester's face would have reduced Ellen to tears- if it had been directed at her- but the woman in the nurse's uniform simply sniffed, "I don't know what you're talking about. This is a mental health facility."

John pulled back the hammer, "That bullshit's not going to work on me. Now, tell me where the kids are being kept. One, two…"

The woman didn't say anything but pointed over her head. It was vague but at least they knew what direction to go in.

"Ellen," John called and she moved forward, "Stay here and watch her. Shoot her in the knee if she tries to make a run for it; the head if she tries to call for backup."

Something in Ellen froze at the idea of a woman being involved in something as awful as organ trafficking and she nodded, raising her gun to point it at the nurse.

Ellen listened as the group moved silently past and took a deep, steadying breath. She didn't know how long they would be but her anger gave her energy and she thought she might be able to stay like this the entire night.

The nurse stared at her and moved to sit back down in her swivel chair.

"I wouldn't try that if I were you," Ellen warned and the woman froze.

This was going to be a long night.

SPN

"Dean, you go with Caleb and find Sam," John instructed his son in a whisper as they took the elevator up, "The rest of us will deal with the staff."

Dean nodded and Caleb placed an encouraging hand on his shoulder.

For no other reason other than it would be convenient to start at the top and work their way down, John hit the button for the highest floor.

Dean stared down at the floor of the elevator between his feet and wondered if his brother had ever ridden in this very lift.

While they waited, Deke pulled walkie-talkies out of the pack he was carrying. John looked slightly surprised but then smiled.

Dean was handed his and turned it on.

"Once you find your brother we can make a quick getaway," Deacon explained in a whisper, "And this will prevent anyone from becoming lost."

The elevator stopped suddenly and pinged, its doors sliding open to reveal a long hallway lined with metal doors.

"Bingo," Caleb whispered and stepped out of the lift with Dean right behind him.

The young men were off even before the elevator doors had shut and were peering through the wire-reinforced windows into the rooms- which were thankfully mostly empty- and hoping that Sam was in one of them.

"Hey! What are you doing here?" a gruff voice startled Dean and he turned to see a large man in a white orderlies' uniform step off the elevator.

Caleb gave Dean a good shove and hissed at him to keep moving.

"I can take care of this gorilla," Caleb smiled and Dean turned away, searching for his brother.

Dean was starting to think that maybe they had arrived too late, that Sam had been killed (terminated) when he peered hopefully into the last room.

"Ohmygod!" Dean gasped, and reached for the door handle. Locked, of course. The mechanism wasn't even that difficult to pick and Dean had the door flung open in a matter of seconds.

"Sammy!" Dean said loudly, staring at his brother. Sam was folded into the fetal position on the white-tile floor, wearing a pair of dark blue pants and a white t-shirt. His hands were up near his face and curled in half-fists.

Dropping to his knees beside his brother, Dean took hold of one of Sam's bony shoulders- he was too thin- and shook him awake.

Sam's eyes flew open and he gave a startled cry, scooting away from Dean on his butt, his hands held out in front of him.

"Ple-please," Sam begged, "Not again… please."

Dean stared at his brother's face- his eyes- in horror.

What the fuck had these bastards done to him?

"Sammy?" Dean said quietly and reached out, latching onto one of Sam's icy hands.

"D-Dean?" Sam choked and blinked, "Is it really you?"

A lump formed in Dean's through and he couldn't swallow it, "Yeah, Sammy, it's really me. Dad's looking for whoever's running the show. We're getting you get you out of here."

Tears began leaking from Sam's eyes and he pulled Dean closer.

Dean wrapped his arms gently around his brother and hugged him for a long moment.

"We have to leave," Dean pulled away and stood, taking hold of his brother's hand.

Sam, still crying, stood shakily and walked cautiously as Dean led him out of the room.

"You found him!" Caleb popped his head out of one of the rooms, closing the door after himself, smiling when it locked automatically.

"Yeah," Dean said, his voice a mixture of happiness and sadness.

Caleb caught sight of Sam's eyes and frowned. To his credit, the hunter kept his mouth shut.

"What you do with the gorilla?" Dean asked Caleb.

Smirking, the older man jerked a thumb over his shoulder, "Gave him a taste of his own medicine."

Dean peered in the window to see the large man sprawled out on the floor, a goose egg already beginning to swell on his forehead.

"I think it's time we got the hell out of here," Dean said and Caleb took the walkie-talkie.

"The tuna is in the can," the hunter said confidently and Dean couldn't help but smirk.

"You found Sam?" Bobby Singer's voice cracked to life.

"That's what it means," Caleb said in an exasperated tone, "Don't you ever watch spy movies, old man?"

"This ain't no time to be fucking around, Blacker!" Bobby snarled and Caleb sniggered.

"Did you find the ringleader?" Dean asked and felt Sam's hand tighten around his.

"Yup," Bobby replied, "An' let's just say he won't be making it for his court date."

Dean wished he had been there to see the asshole get what was coming to him but he knew that his brother was more important than a front-row seat to the scumbag's execution.

"D'n?" Sam's whispery voice had his brother whipping around in time to see the kid crumple to the floor.

"Shit!' Dean swore and crouched down, heaving his brother up- he seemed to weigh almost nothing at all, he was just gangly- with Sam's head resting against his right arm and his knees over his left. Caleb carefully moved Sam's left arm to drape it across Dean's neck and drew in a sharp breath when he saw the bruising on his inner-elbow.

"C'mon," Dean muttered and marched toward the elevator. As they waited for the lift to arrive, Dean looked down at his brother. He was safe now. No one was going to take Sam away from him again. If they tried, they'd have one seriously pissed off big brother to answer to.


	10. Chapter Ten

Deacon kept his word and waited until the Winchesters were miles away before calling in the Feds. By mid-morning the grounds of the Dunhill Psychiatric Hospital were crawling with Federal agents, state and local police, paramedics, and television news crews. Staff members from the North Hall were arrested and their victims placed into protective custody, transferred to the safety of Marshalltown's general hospital. The body of the late Doctor Arthur Bates was locked in the back of a black coroner's van. Director William Findlay's office in Cathcart Hall was searched and files containing information on nearly thirty missing youths were found. As the photographs were matched to a young man or woman, one file seemed only to belong to a ghost. The boy in the photo, with his shaved head, glaring green eyes and long nose, was not one of the young people found in the North Hall. Known only by the code M-BSPN666, his identity remained a mystery and speculation on who he was spread like wildfire. The FBI's official statement was that the young man was almost certainly dead. The unofficial belief of many of the agents who had read the boy's file was that he was alive somewhere because his rare blood type made him a precious commodity to those who sold organs on the black market.

Despite all the attention the Dunhill Psychiatric Hospital was getting, the nighttime rescue mission was never mentioned. Who would believe the orderly who'd been attacked by Caleb Blacker and found inside one of the locked rooms? Who would listen to the nurse who had Ellen Harvelle's shotgun pointed at her for over a half hour before the group of hunters had left the building with the young man whose face became known to every American watching the news that morning?

John and Dean didn't listen to the radio, nor did they turn on the television. All they cared about was the youngest member of their small family. Even though both men were exhausted, sleep was the last thing on their minds.

Sam was lying on his back on Bobby Singer's old brown couch, a pillow underneath his head and a warm blanket tucked around him.

The veteran hunter had practically demanded the Winchesters stay at his house, knowing that if he didn't say anything John would just take the boys to a string of motel rooms and God knew Sam didn't need that right now.

W

Dean had carried Sam out the front doors of North and across the lawn of the hospital, a grim smile on his face and tears in his eyes as he pressed his brother's body to his chest. John trotted right along beside his eldest son, his face pale and concerned. No one said a word but silently formed a protective circle around the three Winchesters until they had put Dunhill behind them.

When Dean reached the Impala he got into the backseat without hesitating; Caleb helping him in so that he could still hold onto Sam while sliding along the leather-covered bench seat. Sitting on the far side with his brother lying beside him, Dean cradled Sam's head in his lap. John hadn't entered the car immediately, talking quietly with the men and woman who had helped him rescue his youngest.

Dean didn't listen in. He couldn't stop staring at his brother's face. Sam's already angular features stood out in sharp relief in the dim light coming in through the passenger windows. Dean picked up one of his brother's limp, chilly hands and rubbed his thumb along Sam's knuckles in a comforting way.

After being pressed into promising to keep everyone posted on Sam's condition- even Ellen, who broke down and hugged him- John got into the driver's seat of the Impala and turned to peer at his sons.

"How is he?" John asked gruffly and Dean took a moment before answering. John didn't know about Sam's eyes and Dean didn't think he should tell his father just yet.

"Still asleep," Dean answered vaguely and he laid his free hand on his knee, saddened by the fact that he couldn't card his fingers through his brother's hair the way he had done when Sam was little.

"Bobby's invited us to stay with him," John had said as he turned back around and waited until all the other hunters but his mentor had driven down the road and out of sight.

Dean didn't even remember being surprised at that pronouncement, even knowing about the fight the two men had had after Bobby had suggested that John be more of a parent instead of a Marine. It wasn't any secret to Sam and Dean that Bobby thought that John should wait until they were older before teaching them to hunt, that he should let them be the children they were instead of trying to make them boy-soldiers. Bobby would go out of his way to treat Sam and Dean like kids whenever the two Winchesters stayed with him, making them macaroni and cheese, playing board games with them and even taking them to the local video store to rent movies. Bobby had a 'no training' policy at his house that often infuriated John when he returned and found that his son had not been practicing at all. Eventually their father had had enough of Bobby undermining him- John's words- and had cut ties with the veteran hunter, not speaking to him for years until his old mentor had shown up at the Roadhouse after getting a call from Ellen.

Dean had looked up when the Impala started moving, placing one hand on his brother's chest lightly to prevent Sam slipping off the seat.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean had muttered to his sleeping sibling, "We're not going to let anyone hurt you anymore."

The five hour drive to Sioux Falls seemed like five years to Dean; the hours trickling by slowly as he waited for his brother to wake up. Every so often- Dean was pretty sure it was every ten minutes- John would ask how Sam was and receive the same answer.

Dean had breathed a sigh of relief once they passed under the rusted sign at the entrance to Singer Salvage and rubbed his brother's chest.

"We're here, Sammy," he whispered, "We're at Bobby's."

Dean refused to let the two older men help as he wrapped his arms around his sibling and shuffled awkwardly out of the back of the Impala. Knowing he wasn't wanted at the moment, John had opened the trunk and grabbed the duffel bags.

Once inside the house, Dean had settled Sam on the couch, knowing that his brother would not be able to navigate the stairs when he woke up. Bobby took extra blankets and pillows from the linen closet so Sam would be as comfortable as possible.

John sat down in one of Bobby's armchairs and just watched his youngest son sleep. Dean lowered himself onto the floor beside the couch and held onto his brother's hand protectively.

Bobby, realizing that the only one who was going to get any sleep that night was Sam, went into the kitchen and prepared the coffee maker for a long-haul.

W

Dean stared into his empty mug, frowning at the dark ring of dried coffee at the bottom. John was dozing in his chair, chin propped up by the heel of his hand. Bobby flipped idly through a thick tome sitting on his desk, squinting at the book in the early morning light.

Dean immediately turned to look at his brother up when he felt Sam's fingers twitch in his. Leaning forward, Dean grimaced as he felt the beginnings of pins and needles in his butt.

"Sammy, hey, you with me?" he asked as his younger brother's eyebrows furrowed in response.

John snorted and woke up at the sound of Dean's voice in the quiet room. He pushed himself off his chair and landed beside his eldest son, shoving the coffee table out of the way.

"Sam!" He exclaimed, excited and anxious.

Dean rubbed his brother's knuckles as Sam's eyes moved beneath their lids.

"D-Dean?" Sam asked; his voice barely audible.

Dean smiled, "Yeah, Sammy, I'm right here. I've got you."

"Sam? Son?" John shifted closer to his youngest boy and put a hand on his chest.

Dean watched as Sam propped himself up on his elbows, hissing in pain and tried to sit up.

"Let me help," Dean gripped his brother's upper arms and pulled him into a sitting position, leaning his back against the pillows for support.

Sam took a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes. Dean frowned at the sight of his brother's milky irises and John felt the air rush from his lungs, felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He grabbed his youngest son, holding onto the eighteen year old tightly, Sam's face pressed against his broad shoulder. Sam did not reciprocate the embrace but simply remained limp in his father's arms. Dean could see his brother's grimace in pain and he closed his milky eyes.

"Sam," John whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I never should have let you go."

SPN

Sam felt the tenseness leave his shoulders as soon as he heard the front door close behind his father.

Sam hadn't been sure how John would react when he realized he couldn't see. He had expected his father to be angry- John's default emotion- and had been shocked when his Dad had instead been apologetic, nearly crushing him in a rare hug.

Sam had become nervous, shifting in John's hold as the moments passed, unused to his father displaying such emotion. John's words cut into Sam like a knife; I never should have let you go circling around in Sam's brain in mockery. Over the past weeks, Sam had said similar phrases to himself- I never should have left- knowing that they wouldn't change what had happened.

Thankfully Bobby had taken pity on the youngest Winchester and cleared his throat, catching John's attention.

"I got some stuff to get in town, John," he explained, "An' I wouldn't mind the company."

Sam had held his breath until he felt his father released him and heard the older man stand up. Dean sidled into the spot vacated by their father, still holding onto Sam's cold fingers as the two elder hunters walked out the front door.

"Sammy, you okay?" he heard his brother ask, Dean's warm breath tickling his ear.

"Yeah," Sam sighed and tugged at the collar of his t-shirt with his free hand, realizing that he was still wearing the clothes they'd given him at the hospital.

"Uh, Dean?" Sam asked, turning his head, "Can I change out of these clothes?"

Dean squeezed his hand, "Sure thing. I have your duffel bag upstairs."

Sam's eyebrows raised in shock, "You found my duffel? I never knew what happened to it after… after I got taken."

Sam flinched slightly when Dean patted his shoulder and then lowered his head, blinking as tears formed in his eyes.

"I thought you wanted to get into some clean clothes," Dean's voice scolded amusedly from above Sam. He must have stood up.

Sam nodded and pushed the blanket down towards the end of the couch. Swinging his feet onto the floor, Sam felt his heart flutter in his chest for a moment. Reaching out to where he thought his brother was standing; Sam grabbed a handful of Dean's shirt and got shakily to his feet.

Sam's knees felt as if they were made of Jell-O and the incision in his side sparked with pain at his sudden movement.

"Maybe I should go grab your duffel and bring it down here," Dean suggested and Sam felt his brother's hand on his, ready to pull his fingers away from his shirt.

"NO!" Sam exclaimed and he felt Dean go rigid.

"No," Sam said again, quieter, "Don't leave me down here alone."

Sam could almost envision his brother's furrowed brows, his pinched eyes as Dean said, "Sam, you're shaking like a leaf. I don't think you'll be able to get up those stairs- even with me helping you. I'll be really fast and then we can get you into some clean clothes."

Sam bit his lip. He stared straight ahead but the white fog gave up no answers.

"Okay," Sam gave in and sank back down onto the couch cushions. He wrapped his arms around his middle when he suddenly shivered. He listened to his brother's footsteps as Dean headed for the staircase.

Sam's stomach felt hollow and cold, reminding him that he had not eaten anything in a long while. Sam sighed and felt tears well up in his eyes yet again.

Swiping a hand angrily over his face, Sam turned his head in the direction of the stairs, hearing his brother's footsteps.

"You need any help?" Dean asked as his voice came closer until Sam was sure he was standing in front of the couch.

Sam shook his head, "As long as I know where the front is I should be okay."

Standing again, Sam reached his hands out and felt the soft, slightly grainy texture of denim against his fingers; his blue jeans.

Sam lowered the pants, "Dean… did you bring down some boxers?"

"What? Oh, yeah," Dean took the jeans and replaced them with a pair of boxer shorts.

Sam rolled his sightless eyes when Dean commented, "I'll turn around."

After being stripped naked by a couple of complete strangers, the thought of his older brother seeing him without clothes didn't bother Sam in the least. But he didn't say anything to Dean.

Sam shoved the dark blue drawstring pants down around his ankles, balancing precariously for a second as he tried to slip the legs off his feet while still standing and finally kicked them to one side and out of his way. Sam shivered again and quickly pulled the boxers on, feeling a weird sense of relief at having underwear once again.

"Okay, Dean," Sam said, "I need pants."

This time Sam held onto his brother's shoulder as he lifted one foot and set it in the pant leg, pulling the trousers up and then doing the same with the opposite foot, fumbling with the zipper and button for an annoyingly long amount of time when he had the jeans where he wanted them.

"You know, that would have been easier if you had sat down," Dean commented and Sam glared at him.

"Shut up," he growled and pulled the t-shirt up over his head.

"Sam! What the hell is that?!" Dean cried loudly, startling his brother.

"What?!" Sam asked; fear filling his belly.

"That cut," Dean explained and Sam jerked when his brother touched him, just underneath the ribs on his left side.

Swallowing, Sam let the white t-shirt fall to the floor.

"He took my kidney," Sam whispered, suddenly feeling ashamed.

His brother didn't respond and Sam looked up.

"Dean?" Sam croaked.

"Is that… Is that all?" Dean's watery voice asked and Sam shook his head.

"He took blood," Sam's left hand instantly went to the crook of his right elbow, touching the tender skin that was surely still bruised.

Sam sucked in a deep breath, "And b-bone m-m-marrow."

Sam felt his brother's hands on his bare shoulders, felt Dean's warm, coffee-scented breath on his face and wished he could actually see him, even when it was clear his brother was upset. He wished he could see that little vertical line that always appeared between Dean's eyebrows, see the water in his eyes make their hazel colour turn a rustic gold, see his brother's lips turned down in a worried frown.

Sam's eyes pricked with tears and the whiteness seemed to shimmer, "And my sight… he took that last."

Dean pulled his brother into a hug, careful not to squeeze too hard.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean whispered, "I'm so damn sorry."

Sam felt his tears overflow and run down his face. Dean's words, although similar to their father's, did not seem to convey the same meaning and Sam allowed his brother to hug him for a long time.

When Sam began to shiver despite the warmth of the room, Dean let him go.

"Ah, here's your shirt," Dean muttered and Sam felt the soft fabric of a long-sleeved button-up being pressed into his hands.

Sam shrugged the shirt on over his shoulders, stuffed his hands into the sleeves and straightened it. Sam gave an irritated sigh when Dean brushed his fingers out of the way and began doing up the shirt's buttons.

"You want the cuffs rolled up?" Dean asked gently and Sam shook his head.

He sat back down on the couch and sank back against the pillows, his feet on the cushions. His legs trembled and he felt exhausted.

Sam heard Dean shift his weight and sniff, "Can I get you anything, Sammy? Some water?"

Sam nodded and smiled, "Thanks."

SPN

Dean walked into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. Wiping a hand across his face, he peered into the den at his brother. Sam was staring straight ahead, his milky eyes slightly unnerving.

What are we going to do? Dean wondered. He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

Remembering what he was supposed to be doing; Dean pushed away the worrisome thought in his head and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. Turning on the kitchen tap, Dean waited until the water was almost icy before filling the cup.

Glancing over his shoulder, Dean noticed that Sam was fiddling with the plastic hospital bracelet still on his wrist. Dean frowned and moved to the junk drawer, fishing a pair of scissors from the mess of elastic bands and batteries, before picking up the glass of water and heading back into the living room.

Dean watched as Sam turned his head, listening to his footsteps.

"Here's your water, Sammy," Dean passed his brother the glass and watched as Sam carefully raised it to his lips, holding it with both hands.

Once his brother had gulped down all the liquid, Dean took the glass and set it on the coffee table.

"Need anything else?" Dean asked, tapping the closed blades of the scissors against the palm of his hand.

"I'm starving," Sam said slightly sheepishly, "I haven't eaten anything since… well, not in a while."

Dean nodded, "Let's wait until Dad and Bobby get back, okay? We should tell them about, uh, what else went down at that hospital."

Sam turned to his brother, "Tell them about the kidney."

Dean lowered his gaze and cleared his throat, "Yeah."

The two Winchesters remained silent for a moment before Dean shifted, "Gimme your right arm, Sammy."

Sam complied and Dean cut the laminated bracelet, letting it fall onto the floor. Bending it over to pick it up, Dean saw the serial number that had been under Sam's picture on the website.

"What does this mean? M-BSPN666?" Dean asked out loud and Sam shrugged, "Identification, I guess."

"Couldn't have asked for your name?" Dean said with a slight smile, trying to lighten the mood.

"It's probably hard to cut someone's kidney out of them if you know their name," Sam whispered, "If you think about them as another person."

"Sam," Dean almost gasped his brother's name, crunching the laminated bracelet in his fist.

Before he could say something sappy, Sam sighed, "I'm kind of tired, Dean."

Swallowing past the lump of emotion in his throat, Dean nodded, "Okay, get some rest, Sammy. I'll wake you when Dad and Bobby come back."

Sam shifted down until his head was resting on the pillow and he rolled onto his right side, hands tucked against his chest. Dean paused long enough to pull the blanket up to Sam's chin and then trudged back into the kitchen, tossing the scissors onto the counter and the bracelet into the trash. Dean stared at the refrigerator before opening the door and grabbing a beer.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Dean watched Sam's jaw clench as Jefferson carefully poked at the incision on his side. Dean felt his brother squeeze his hand tightly and knew that his brother was in pain, even as the doctor apologized quietly.

John and Bobby were standing in the kitchen doorway, coffee cups in hand and anxious expressions on their faces, trying not to hover too much.

The older brother frowned as Jefferson's bushy, grey eyebrows knitted together.

"Sam, did you receive any care after the surgery?" the grizzled doctor asked, trying to sound as professional as possible but Dean could clearly see the man's furrowed brow and deep frown.

The youngest Winchester shook his head, his breath hitching for a moment before he spoke up, "I d-didn't even know wha-what was going to happen. They j-just took me to the r-room and put me to sl-sleep…"

"It's alright, son," Jefferson mumbled soothingly and Dean rubbed his thumb over his brother's knuckles comfortingly.

"I w-woke up and I f-felt s-so bad… my side hurt so m-much," Sam said softly, "I don't re-really remember e-everything… I'm sorry."

The doctor shook his head, "You have nothing to be sorry for. So after this Dr. Bates removed your kidney he just sent you back to the room they were keeping you in?"

Sam gulped, "Y-yeah."

Dean narrowed his eyes and looked to the friendly doctor.

"Why? Is that important?" he asked Jefferson and the old man bobbed his head.

"Blood clots are sometimes a result of having a kidney removed," the doctor explained, "I don't think these people were overly concerned with that outcome."

Dean paled visibly. Sam could have died and no one at that hospital would have cared.

"Normally precautions are taken to prevent clotting," Jefferson continued, "Patients are sometimes given special stockings to wear or have shots."

"But Sam's okay now? Right?" Dean asked, praying that Jefferson would say that his brother was in the clear.

"Yes," the grizzled doctor said positively, "Sam is out of danger of suffering any clots."

Dean glanced down at his sibling and ran a hand over Sam's stubbly hair, wishing that it was long like it used to be before those assholes had chopped it off. Sam smiled at his older brother's touch.

"Sam still only has one kidney though," John's voice made Dean jump. His father had moved from the kitchen doorway and was standing in the living room, still distant from his sons but close enough so that he didn't have to raise his voice to speak to Jefferson.

Bobby remained where he was, shaking his head and muttering under his breath, probably calling his fellow hunter an idjit.

"As long as Sam's remaining kidney stays healthy," Jefferson explained, "He should be fine."

John frowned, not liking the sound of that at all.

"What about a transplant?" The eldest Winchester asked.

Jefferson rubbed his chin, "That is always an option but John, Sam could be on the wait-list for a long time… months or even years because although he is young, he still has one fully-functional kidney. There is no reason why Sam can't live a happy, healthy life with one kidney."

"Is there any special diet he should be on? Should he avoid certain foods… sugar or salt or alcohol?" John continued.

Dean looked down when Sam's squeezed his hand almost painfully and he looked pleadingly at the doctor.

"No," Jefferson said, "Sam can eat anything and everything."

"Alright," John said in a way that told Dean that nothing about this was alright and sighed, retreating back to the kitchen to refill his coffee cup.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean leaned over close to his brother and whispered in Sam's ear.

"Yeah," the younger sibling mumbled but Dean frowned at the line of moisture that ran down one of his cheeks.

Dean used his sleeve to wipe his brother's face and rubbed Sam's arm.

"Why don't you try and get some sleep? When you wake up I'll make you something to eat," Dean suggested and Sam nodded, closing his eyes.

Jefferson gave the older brother a slight nod and Dean stood, following the good doctor into the kitchen.

John looked pleadingly at the older man, "Do you think you could take a look at Sam's eyes? There has to be a way to fix them, right?"

Dean cringed inwardly at the desperation in his father's voice. Jefferson poured himself a cup of coffee and didn't answer for a moment. Dean had been trying not to think about what that son of a bitch had done to his brother's eyes. He knew there was a very real chance that Sam would never see again but he didn't allow himself to dwell too much on the thought.

The old doctor nodded, he looked worried but Dean tried to ignore that. Jefferson would be able to tell them exactly what that bastard Bates had done to Sam's eyes.

Although reluctant to wake his brother, Dean walked back into the den and crouched beside the couch. Reaching out a hand, he gently shook Sam's shoulder.

The younger man jumped and his eyes flew open, "No! Please!"

"Shhh," Dean cooed, "It's okay, it's just me."

"Dean?" Sam asked, blinking owlishly and relaxed beneath his brother's hand.

"Yeah, Sammy," he muttered, "Sorry to wake you… Is it alright if Jefferson takes a look at your eyes?"

Sam's brow furrowed, "O-okay… I guess."

Dean squeezed his brother's shoulder, "It won't hurt. I promise."

Helping his sibling sit up, Dean plopped down next to him and waited as the old doctor walked into the room, followed closely by John and Bobby.

Jefferson crouched down in front of the Winchester boys and pulled a pen light from his shirt pocket.

"Can you tilt your head up for me Sam and open your eyes as wide as you can?" Jefferson asked, his tone nothing but professional.

Sam complied, swallowing nervously. Dean watched as Jefferson squinted his own eyes as he shone the bright light in Sam's milky ones.

Dean's brow furrowed when Jefferson frowned. John and Bobby inched closer to the couch, concern clear on both their faces. The doctor turned off his penlight and told Sam he could relax.

"What is it?" John asked. Dean wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders comfortingly.

Jefferson shook his head for a moment, looking surprised, "It's Sam's corneas."

"What do you mean?" Bobby grumbled out.

"I think your doctor Bates transplanted Sam's corneas, I could see the stitches he used," Jefferson answered, his face actually going pale. Dean stared at his brother, "That's what happened, Sam?"

Before his brother could answer, Dean reached up and took his brother's face in his hands; he was nearly nose-to-nose with Sam when he saw it; there were hair-thin sutures criss-crossing the iris, the structure no longer completely smooth as the stitches caused minute folds in the cornea that Dean supposed would even out once the stitches were removed or dissolved.

Dean could have kicked himself. They had been so concerned about his brother's kidney that they hadn't bothered getting a closer look at Sam's eyes. He hugged his brother when Sam began to tremble, still clearly shaken from the memory of what he'd gone through at that hospital.

"Why? Sam didn't need it," John asked and Dean almost glared at his father. Did that son of a bitch need a reason for cutting up someone's eyes?

"Why does it matter?!" Dean snapped at his father, "Sam can't fucking see!"

"All right," Bobby took an assertive step forward, ready to referee if a fight should break out, "Calm down you two!"

John wiped a hand down his face, "Dean's right. Jefferson, is there a way to fix this?"

"I couldn't tell you, John," the eldest Winchester seemed to sag with the words, "But I have a friend who's an eye specialist, she'll be able to let you know if there's any hope of restoring Sam's sight… she actually doesn't live too far from here."

John nodded and Jefferson clapped a hand on his shoulder companionably. Dean swallowed thickly, knowing his father would take the old doctor's advice, if there was any chance of Sam getting his sight back John would not let it pass on by.

SPN

Sam twisted his hands together nervously in his lap. He stopped when he felt Dean's warm palm close over his fingers.

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy," his brother told him in a hushed voice. Sam tried to smile and nodded.

The motion of the Impala's wheels over the road had a soothing effect on the youngest Winchester and he sighed as he leaned back against the seat. Dean had insisted he sit in the back of the car with Sam and the younger brother didn't complain. Sam actually felt much more comfortable having his brother share the bench seat with him; all he had to do was reach out a hand and he'd know that Dean was right beside him.

"How much longer, Dad?" Sam heard his brother's voice call up to their father.

There was a grunt from the direction of the driver's seat- right in front of Sam- and John's gruff voice answered, "Hour and a half maybe."

Dean squeezed Sam's hand encouragingly and the younger brother returned the gesture.

"Why don't you close your eyes for a little bit?" Dean suggested and Sam shrugged. He might as well, it wasn't like he could watch the scenery fly by out the window the way he would do when he was younger.

Sam slid his eyes closed, the darkness enveloping him- somehow less frightening than the persistent whiteness that obscured his vision- and was soon in a deep sleep.

SPN

Dean stared at the grey ribbon of highway rolling out before them. He wished Jefferson's friend lived closer to Sioux Falls, even though Pierre was only four hours away the drive seemed to be taking far too long for his liking.

Sighing impatiently, Dean fidgeted on the bench seat but smiled when he caught sight of his brother; Sam's chin was touching his chest, his hands lying limp in his lap, his breathing slow and steady. Dean was glad that his sibling was able to get some decent rest because it seemed like Sam hadn't had any quality rest in a long while. Dean shuddered; he had seen the room that asshole doctor had been keeping his brother in and he didn't blame Sam for not wanting to go to sleep in that place.

Once given the all-clear by Jefferson that Sam wouldn't have to be on any special diet the three older hunters had made sure that the young man wouldn't go hungry for another minute longer. Bobby had taken two extra large frozen pizzas and a loaf of garlic bread out for dinner and asked the good doctor if he'd like to stay. Jefferson, although clearly pleased by the invitation- Dean guessed that helping out injured hunters could be a thankless job- he declined, wanting the small family to spend some time together by themselves.

Sam hadn't eaten as much as Dean would have liked but the older brother kept his mouth shut. It must be strange to eat something and not be able to see what it was, even if it was just pizza.

While the two oldest hunters had retreated upstairs to their beds, Dean had camped out on the floor beside the couch, reluctant to leave his brother's side even though he knew Sam was safe. He wanted to be close incase Sam needed him in the middle of the night.

John had wanted to meet up with Jefferson's optometrist friend as soon as possible and the next morning, after a quick breakfast of fried egg sandwiches, had piled his sons in the Impala and pointed the classic Chevy in the direction of the state capital. Bobby had decided to stay back, give the Winchesters some privacy although he considered Sam as much his son as if the young man was his own blood, not wanting to tarnish the suddenly genial relationship with John; knowing that the younger hunter would not appreciate having his toes stepped on at this point in time.

Dean leaned forward restlessly and reached towards the radio, "It's too quiet in here."

John glanced down at his eldest's hand and turned the dial for the radio, quickly lowering the volume so the music wouldn't wake Sam.

The older brother hummed along to the song as it played, his feet tapping out the rhythm against the floor mat. He tried not to think about the possibility that Sam might never regain his sight, he didn't want to even consider it, even if he knew it could be true. Sam had already had enough shit happen to him in the past weeks he sure as hell didn't need this piled on top as well.

Dean prayed that fate or destiny or whatever it was would give his brother a break just this once and everything would be alright in the end.

The older brother chewed his lip nervously and glanced at his sleeping sibling. He'd never know that Sam was blind and he wished that it wasn't the case and that they were just on another long, boring road trip to save someone from monsters like they used to do.

Dean's life had already been turned upside down by his brother's decision to go to college and the kid's subsequent abduction, he didn't know if he could handle any more unpleasant surprises.

W

Dean tapped his foot anxiously on the caramel-coloured tile floor of the waiting room. He stared at the posters along the beige walls advertizing contact lenses, laser-eye surgery and the importance of seeing an optometrist regularly. Sam was hunched over in the chair beside his brother, hands gripping the arms of his chair tightly. John sat on Dean's other side, squinting at the fine print on all the forms he was required to fill-out for his youngest son.

The older brother was glad that they were the only people waiting for an appointment. He didn't think he'd be able to handle it if people started staring at his sibling, even if Sam couldn't see them himself, Dean would and he was damned if he would allow the kid to be subjected to that kind of humiliation.

The ladies at the reception desk were nice enough; they'd smiled warmly at John while Dean led his brother to the chairs along the wall and sat down. Then again, they were probably used to seeing all sorts of eye conditions that a young man with milky eyes didn't bother them. Dean gritted his teeth; not everyone was going to be so tactful if this all turned out as a dead end and Sam remained blind.

Dean sighed and Sam turned his head slightly towards the sound.

"Dean?" Sam asked but the older boy shrugged, "Nothing, Sammy… just the music."

He lifted a hand and gestured to the speakers in the ceiling piping in 'soft' rock. Sam smiled a little, catching Bon Jovi singing 'Living On A Prayer'.

John stood and stretched startling Sam with the sudden movement.

"Sorry son," the eldest Winchester apologized, looking sheepish before crossing to the reception desk and handing over the clipboard and form.

Approaching his sons, John tried to keep from looking at Sam's eyes as he spoke to Dean.

"Do you want anything? I was going to walk over to that coffee shop down the street?" he asked. Dean watched as his father's gaze slowly slipped past him and pinned on his youngest's milky eyes.

"I'm fine," Dean crossed his arms to show his displeasure and John snapped back to attention, zeroing in on his oldest son's frown.

"Sammy? You want anything?" Dean asked, hoping his brother would say yes, the kid was still recovering from that mad doctor's ministrations and he'd lost an alarming amount of weight in the weeks he'd been held captive.

"A donut or muffin?" Dean continued but Sam shook his head.

"Alright," John said, "Call my cell if you change your mind."

Dean nodded and watched his father leave the optometrist's. He reached out and rubbed his brother's arm.

"You should really eat something," he muttered to Sam.

"I don't think I can, Dean," Sam whispered in response and Dean frowned. He should have known the kid was nervous. Hell, he was nervous. But when Sam got stressed he tended to forget about the fact that he needed to eat and drink and sleep.

"It's going to be okay," Dean assured his brother, "Jefferson's a great doctor and his friend's just as awesome."

Sam gave a ghost of a smile and straightened in his chair, grimacing slightly.

"You okay?" Dean asked anxiously and Sam nodded quickly.

"It's just… you know," Sam lowered his head to his left side to indicate the still-healing wound in his side.

"Twinges a bit," Sam muttered but Dean wasn't convinced.

"I think there's Tylenol in the car, do you want one?" Dean asked.

"I'll be fine," Sam insisted.

I hope you're right; Dean thought and sat back, reading a poster outlining the symptoms of glaucoma while he waited for his father to return.

SPN

Sam's heart was beating frantically in his chest. He knew he really had nothing to be anxious- frightened- about but not being able to see his surroundings was extremely disorienting. It had been alright when he'd been at Bobby's. Sure, he'd pretty much only made himself a nest on the couch and hadn't moved but that wasn't the point. Sam remembered what the veteran hunter's house looked like, inside and out. He recalled where every piece of furniture was but now, even though he was just in some office waiting room, Sam felt extremely exposed. He didn't know where anything was, he was at the mercy of his brother. He was dependent on Dean to lead him around objects and not hit anything.

Sam strained his ears to catch the whispered conversation of the women at the reception desk, attempting to gauge the distance between himself and them simply by virtue of his hearing but it was harder then it seemed.

The youngest Winchester scowled to himself. Hollywood made being blind seem so easy, like the loss of one sense would magically be compensated by the others- not that Sam believed everything he saw in movies- and then life would be practically back to normal. If only his life was like a film and there was a magical cure waiting for him. Sam realized that he probably wasn't going to get his sight back, that this wasn't just some side-effect of the transplant, it seemed permanent. If it had only been temporary it would probably have worn off by now.

Sam sucked in a shaky breath and jumped a little when he felt Dean's hand close around his own, his fingers still gripping the arm of his chair in a death-grip.

The sound of a door opening and heavy footsteps announced John's return.

"Here," Sam's father said and his brother grumbled something.

"Sammy," Dean spoke up and Sam turned his head towards his brother's voice, "You have this."

Sam lifted a hand and felt a warm smooth cylinder pressed against his palm- a paper coffee cup- and he quickly tightened his grip on it.

"Don't you want it?" Sam asked, wrapping both hands around the cup and breathing in the scent of hot chocolate.

"Nah," Dean muttered, "Knock yourself out."

Sam gave a lopsided smile and nodded. The last thing he wanted was something in his stomach while he was so anxious, but he knew Dean didn't really like cocoa. He was more of a coffee and Jack Daniels kind of guy.

Sam raised his head when he heard his father chuckle from Dean's other side and realized that John knew exactly what he was doing when he gave his eldest the paper cup.

SPN

"Sam Winchester?"

Dean looked up at the grey-haired woman standing by the reception desk. His brother lifted his head and grabbed at Dean's hand.

The small family stood and Dean led his sibling towards the woman. John took the half-finished cup of hot chocolate from his youngest son and deposited it in the trash can beside the reception desk as they passed.

"I'm Dr. Monticello," the woman explained as they headed down the hallway toward the exam rooms.

Dean felt his brother's grip tighten as John squeezed by them to walk beside doctor.

The optometrist shepherded the Winchesters into her office and Dean led his brother to the raised, black faux-leather padded exam chair in the middle of the room. Instead of taking a seat beside John, the older brother pulled the second cushioned chair set aside for family members, across the small office until it was right beside the patient's chair.

Dr. Monticello positioned herself so that she could see both John and Dean.

"Geoffrey has explained your situation as delicate in nature," the doctor began, "So, I'll do my best not to ask too many prying questions, alright?"

John nodded, "We don't mean to complicate things Dr. Monticello. We just… value our privacy."

"I understand," the woman said and smiled.

Dean's brow furrowed. Geoffrey? Was she talking about Jefferson? No wonder the old man never told anyone his first name! Geoffrey Jefferson sounded like some superhero's alter ego!

Catching his father's disapproving glare, Dean turned his smirk into a concerned frown and patted his brother's arm comfortingly.

"Geoffrey said that Sam received a cornea transplant in both eyes," Dr. Monticello said and both John and Dean nodded.

Dean hoped that the optometrist wouldn't ask all the why's and when's- it wasn't that he didn't think he couldn't lie about it, he could, but it would only complicate things. She might ask for medical records that they just didn't have- but luckily the woman just nodded.

"I'm going to do some tests to see the extent of the damage," Dr. Monticello told them, "They shouldn't hurt."

Sam's hand wrapped around his brother's as the lights turned off and the optometrist sat down in her rolling chair and approached the young men. The doctor opened one of her desk drawers and pulled out a device that looked like a mix between a metal flashlight and some sort of remote control.

"Okay Sam," she said in a calm, professional manner, "I want you to look up at the ceiling for me."

Dean stared at his brother and the doctor as the woman held the ophthalmoscope in front of his brother's eyes and shone a bright light directly into the right one.

John leaned forward, elbows on his thighs as he watched the doctor work. Dr. Monticello asked Sam to look up, down and to either side and then repeated the procedure with his left eye.

"What does that do?" Dean asked. He doubted that Sam could see the bright light that was shining in his eyes and he wanted to know what the point was.

"This allows me to see the structures of the eye- including the cornea- more clearly," Dr. Monticello said and left her seat to turn the overhead lights back on.

Dean felt a lump form in his throat at the look on the optometrist's face.

"Well, can this be fixed?" John asked nervously, still clinging to hope.

Dr. Monticello sighed sadly and ran a hand through her long grey hair. Her blue eyes crinkled at the corners, not with a smile, but with a grimace.

"I'm not passing judgment on you," she began slowly, "But whoever you had transplant Sam's corneas was an incompetent butcher."

Dean felt Sam tense beside him. Leaning over, he wrapped an arm around his younger brother's shoulders comfortingly.

"The eye is a very delicate organ," the doctor continued when the Winchesters remained silent, "and you can't just mess around with it without knowing what you're doing. Whoever did this should have their license taken away."

"So there's no way… nothing that can be done?" John asked, his voice sounding hollow and sad, startling both his boys.

"I don't think so," the optometrist said, "the surgery left a great deal of scarring deep in Sam's eyes and besides that, I think he had an allergic reaction of some sort to the material of the corneas."

John looked dumbfounded, "What do you mean?"

Dean frowned. Allergic reaction? He'd heard of people rejecting donated organs but he had never before heard it called an allergic reaction… and what kind of material? Corneas were all made out of the same stuff, weren't they?

Dr. Monticello explained, her expression confused, "Those corneas did not come from another person."

John sat up so fast it was as though he'd received an electric shock. Dean tightened his grip on his brother and heard Sam squeak in pain before loosening his hold.

"They what?" Dean asked, horrified.

"The corneas are not natural," Dr. Monticello said, "They are clearly a synthetic material."

Dean turned to face Sam and stared at his brother's milky eyes as though he would be able to tell the difference between a real cornea and a fake one.

John's hands tightened into fists. He wanted to beat that son of a bitch Dr. Bates to death with his own hands. It didn't seem enough that the villain had been shot in the head, no, John wanted him to suffer for what he'd done to his child.

"What do we do now?" Sam's voice was so quiet Dean didn't think the optometrist would hear him but she turned to him immediately with a compassionate expression.

"Now we figure out what the next step is going to be," Dr. Monticello said gently.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment. This can't be happening. This shouldn't be happening. Only a few weeks ago Sam was slamming the motel room door on his way out, heading to the Greyhound station to start his new life as a college student and now he was sitting in some eye doctor's office being told he would never see again.

Dean opened his eyes when he felt Sam grab his sleeve. The younger man's knuckles were white where they curled around the soft fabric.

Dean shook his head a little bit to clear his thoughts.

"It's going to be okay, Sammy," Dean assured his brother, glancing at Dr. Monticello.

The optometrist gave a wavering smile. She rarely had to give bad news in her line of work so when she did, it tore her up.

The expression on the faces of the three Winchesters was breaking her heart. She turned to John, "Why don't I give you some privacy for a moment? Let you sort some things out? I'll be back in ten minutes or so?"

Dean watched his father nod woodenly and the doctor gave a small smile as she walked out of the room.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered quietly and Dean frowned.

"For what?" he almost snapped and grimaced at the anger in his voice. He wasn't angry at his brother and he hoped Sam knew that.

"I n-never should ha-have left," Sam stammered.

"It's not your fault," Dean reassured his brother, "You didn't know this was going to happen."

John remained silent; lost in his own thoughts.

Dad, say something! Dean wanted to shout, knowing that the longer his father stayed quiet, the more damage it would do to Sam's psyche.

Sam lowered his head in shame, "I sho-should have fought harder and I didn't."

"Hey," Dean cooed, "Don't do that."

"I l-let them take my bl-blood and the bone m-marrow and kidney," Sam had tears trailing down his cheeks now. Dean didn't know what to say so he continued to comfort his brother silently.

John seemed to be in his own world and Dean was glad. John and Bobby didn't know that Bates had taken Sam's blood and bone marrow- Dean didn't really think it was necessary to tell them- and he didn't plan on telling them. Those things seemed trivial now anyway compared to Sam's lost sight.

"It's going to be alright," Dean promised, "Dr. Monticello is going to help us."

Sam gulped wetly and nodded; he lifted his arm and clumsily wiped his face with his sleeve.

Dean smiled even though his brother couldn't see it.

"There you go," he said encouragingly, "Things will turn out… they always do eventually."

Sam gave a weak smile and sat back against the exam chair. He closed his eyes, taking comfort in the darkness.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Dr. Monticello slowly opened the door to her office, a thick bundle of pamphlets in her hand. The Winchesters hadn't moved and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Geoffrey had warned her that the small family might bolt as soon as she gave them her diagnosis (and a chance to run).

Clearing her throat, Dr. Monticello stepped into the room and put on a sympathetic yet confident smile.

"Mr. Winchester? I have some information packets for you," she addressed John but the man made no move to take the offered booklets.

Standing with a scowl, Dean took the packet and glared at his father.

"I think now would be a good time to discuss what you can do for Sam," Dr. Monticello said.

John closed his eyes. He couldn't deal with this right now. Pushing up from his chair, John raked a hand through his head and looked apologetically at the optometrist, "I need some air."

The woman frowned, "I understand this is a shock but we need to talk."

The eldest Winchester shook his head, "I gotta clear my head. You can talk to Dean. He's the one who caters to Sam anyway."

Dr. Monticello watched, stunned, as John opened the door and stepped out into the hall. Turning to the man's sons, she saw Dean's scowl turn into an angry sneer. His eyes narrowed at the office door and the hand not holding onto his brother's wrist, curled into a fist.

Choosing to ignore that last comment, Dr. Monticello grabbed her rolling office chair and pulled it over so that she was sitting right in front of the two young men.

"What have you got for us, Doc?" Dean asked, deciding he could kick his father's ass later; right now he had to focus on what Sam needed, despite what John thought.

"I know how hard it can be to hear such a diagnosis but this isn't the end of the world, you know," Dr. Monticello spoke in her optimistic, confident voice.

Sam nodded and Dean leaned forward, hand still gripping his brother's wrist tightly.

"You have a couple of choices here," Dr. Monticello explained, "You can have an occupational therapist come to your home and they will help teach Sam to function without his sight."

"Okay," Dean said slowly. Although they didn't have a permanent address, Dean thought that Bobby's would be as good a place as any for Sam to learn how to get around without the use of his eyes. Dean knew that the grizzled hunter would have absolutely no qualms about them staying there for a while.

"What exactly would an occupational therapist do?" Sam asked; his voice quiet but Dean smiled at the hint of curiosity in it.

"Their main focus is teaching the newly blind how to function independently. They would show you how to perform daily hygiene and grooming, how to get dressed and sort your clothes, how to work kitchen appliances, things like that," Dr. Monticello answered, looking straight at Sam- and not avoiding his milky gaze, Dean noticed with relief- but spoke to both young men.

"What's the other way we can go?" Dean asked.

"Sam can attend a school or center for the blind," Dr. Monticello said, "They'll teach him many of the same skills as an occupational therapist will but it will give your brother a greater sense of independence."

Dean glanced at Sam and saw his brow furrow slightly.

"Are there any schools close by?" Dean asked. If there was, he'd be driving there every day to check on his brother.

"The South Dakota School for the Blind and Visually Impaired is in Aberdeen," Dr. Monticello answered, her tone hesitant, almost as if she knew what Dean was thinking.

The older brother smiled. From Sioux Falls, Aberdeen was only a little over three hours away.

"The purpose of such facilities is to separate the student from their families and more or less force them to be independent. If you have Sam enrolled at the school, they'll ask that you and your father not to visit for a number of days so that your brother can-" the optometrist explained but Dean interrupted her.

"No," he said curtly.

Sam turned his head in his brother's direction and although he couldn't see him, he knew Dean was angry.

"Dean," Sam said quietly.

"Sam," his brother replied, "We only just got you back. I'm not losing you again."

Dr. Monticello stared at the young men, questions blooming in her mind but she had promised Geoffrey (and the Winchesters) that she wouldn't ask, so she kept silent.

"You won't be losing me!" Sam exclaimed, clearly agitated. Dr. Monticello saw his eyes widen and his chest rise and fall rapidly.

"Okay, okay," Dean murmured, "Calm down, we're not making any decisions right now anyway. We have to talk to Dad still."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and turned away from his brother's voice.

The optometrist looked apologetically at Dean, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset either of you."

The older boy shook his head, "It's not your fault. It's-"

"Complicated, yeah, I get it," Dr. Monticello finished and Dean nodded to the woman appreciatively.

"So, everything's in here?" Dean asked, raising the packet of brochures and pamphlets with one hand.

"Yes, contact information for the school in Aberdeen and some occupational therapists I know."

Dean thanked the woman and stood, pulling his brother up with him.

"My number's in there as well," Dr. Monticello got up and saw the younger Winchesters to the door.

"Please feel free to give me an update," she finished, sounding a little desperate but it was too late to take her words back now.

Dr. Monticello didn't know what had come over her. She wanted to hear from the Winchesters again. She wanted to know if Sam would adapt and become the independent young man she sensed he was. She hoped that his brother realized that this was new territory for all of them and that some of it; Sam would have to traverse alone. She had seen too many patients with overbearing family members who insisted on doing everything for their blind or visually impaired loved one, only to end up suffocating them. She hoped that the outburst of John's was a result of the shock of the news and wasn't going to be a trend- but she secretly doubted it- and knew from the moment she'd met him that John didn't take failure well.

Dr. Monticello didn't bother following Sam and Dean as they walked down the hallway and into the reception area. Instead, she turned the lights in her office off and sat down in her chair.

SPN

Neither Dean nor Sam spoke as they left the optometrist's. Sam allowed his brother to lead him by the wrist to where their father had parked the Impala.

He wanted to say something, anything but he kept silent. Sam could tell his brother was angry- Dean's grip was uncomfortably tight around his arm- but he didn't ask him to loosen his hold.

He climbed dejectedly into the backseat of the car when Dean opened the door for him and fumbled around for a moment before finding his seatbelt. Sam was surprised when he heard the opposite door open and felt the bench seat dip down slightly when Dean sat down beside him.

Sam turned his head in his brother's direction and gave him a sheepish smile. At least Dean wasn't pissed enough to sit up front with their Dad.

Speaking of… John grunted unintelligibly from the driver's seat before talking to Dean.

"What did the doctor tell you?"

Sam heard Dean scoff, "You'd know if you'd stayed, Dad. Why'd you run out like that?! And I don't 'cater' to Sam, I take care of him! It's more than I can say for you!"

"What can we do?" John ignored his eldest and asked his question again, his tone irritated.

Sam opened his mouth to reply, aware that his brother and father were about to have a (very rare) argument and he wanted to defuse the tension as quickly as possible. He did not want to be stuck in the car while the two of the bickered the entire way back to Bobby's.

I'm such a hypocrite, Sam thought, recalling the numerous road trips where Dean was the one resigned to helpless witness while his younger brother fought tooth and nail against their Dad.

"Dr. Monticello said we could either enroll Sammy in a school for the blind or get a occupational therapist to help out," Dean answered coldly, "There's more information in all these pamphlets."

Sam heard the crinkle of paper as the packet changed hands and John grunted his disinterested in the reading material. It was going to be a long drive back to Sioux Falls.

SPN

Dean saw Bobby standing on the porch, waiting for the small family, as John pulled the Impala into the Salvage Yard's grave driveway.

Exiting the car quickly, Dean walked around the vehicle and opened his brother's door. Sam reached out a hand and Dean grabbed it, ignoring John as the older man climbed out of his own seat and glanced at his sons with an exasperated expression.

"Are we going to stand here for the rest of the day?" Sam's voice startled his brother and Dean sighed; his sibling was standing in front of the open car door, waiting for him to move.

Dean glanced up and he saw his father speaking to Bobby. The veteran hunter was frowning and John shrugged his shoulders, disappearing into the house.

The young man gritted his teeth together and tugged his brother up the driveway, intent on confronting his father.

"Dean!" Sam cried out and flailed as his foot struck the wooden porch step and he almost tripped.

"Shit," Dean muttered and grabbed his brother's shoulder with his free hand, steadying him, "Sorry. You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam replied quietly. Dean didn't look at Bobby as he helped guide his brother up the steps but he could feel the grizzled hunter's eyes on him.

Dejectedly, Dean led his brother into the house. He cringed when the screen door slammed shut behind Bobby and he heard the hunter sigh.

"You want anything to drink?" Dean turned to face Bobby and saw he was holding the package of pamphlets that Dr. Monticello had given Dean- that he had in turn given to his father.

"Beer," Dean answered gratefully.

"Make that two," Sam piped up but before Bobby could go into the kitchen, Dean stopped him.

"No way," Dean spoke to his brother, "The only beer you're drinking is root beer."

Sam scowled and pulled away, "I'm fine, Dean. Jefferson said I was."

"Humour me, okay?" Dean wheedled and Sam sighed, his sightless eyes narrowed.

"Fine. Root beer," he grumbled.

Dean knew that Sam would be alright to drink beer but he knew they had to talk to their father and he didn't want his brother's temper bolstered by the alcohol.

While Bobby went to get them their drinks, Dean once again took hold of his brother's wrist and led him to the couch. John was nowhere to be seen and Dean wasn't sure if that was good or not.

He sat down beside his brother on the couch and thanked Bobby when he handed him his beer. Dean opened Sam's soda for him and set it in his sibling's hand.

Bobby groaned as he sat down on the faded pink wing-back chair his wife had picked out years ago and glanced expectantly at Dean.

After taking a sip of liquid courage, Dean rested his elbows on his thighs and clasped his hands between his knees.

"I guess Dad told you the news," he began, not even daring to look at the older man.

"Ayuh," Bobby answered, "John told me. Doc can't do jack squat for Sam's eyes."

Dean felt his brother tense beside him but he ignored it.

"Did he tell you that Dr. Monticello had more to say on that?" Dean knew Bobby had seen the pamphlets but he felt the need to defend the optometrist.

Bobby leaned back and took a swig of his own beer, "Nope."

"Of course," Dean answered.

Bobby said nothing. John always tended to look on the darker side of life, always had and probably always would.

Dean took a deep breath in through his nose, "Even though they can't fix Sammy's eyes, Dr. Monticello said that doesn't mean he can't have a good life."

Bobby nodded even though he knew this already. There were plenty of blind people who lived perfectly happy, normal lives.

"But Sam needs to learn how to live first," Dean continued quietly.

"An' how're y'all going to do that?" Bobby asked, taking another drink of beer.

Dean sat back against the couch cushions and wiped a hand over his face.

"We can get an occupational therapist to come and help Sam," Dean explained, "Or Sam can go to a school for the blind for a while."

Bobby could tell from the younger man's tone that the second option did not please him at all and he didn't really blame Dean, the boy had only just got his brother back after weeks of worrying and fearing that he'd never see his sibling again.

Instead of commenting, Bobby addressed the youngest Winchester.

"Yer mighty quiet over there, what do you feel about all this?"

The young man ducked his head and shrugged, "I don't know."

Bobby scoffed, "Now I know that ain't true! You always have an opinion and some thought bouncing around in that melon of yours. 'Sides, this all boils down to what you want to do, never mind yer brother or Daddy."

Dean waited nervously for his brother's answer. Sam couldn't possibly want to go away to some school for blind people, could he? He'd just spent the last few weeks in the company of strangers and now he might want to do that again? No, Dean didn't believe it.

Sam chewed on his lip as he thought.

"I just want to be independent again," he whispered and Dean sighed with relief.

"You will be, son," Bobby said, "But that means we gotta make some decisions that can't wait."

Dean frowned. Why was Sam so reserved, quiet? Sam and Bobby should have their heads together by now, planning out every minute detail of his rehabilitation.

"Are you feeling okay, Sammy?" Dean asked and placed a hand on his brother's brow.

"I'm kind of tired," the younger boy admitted somewhat sheepishly.

"Alright, why don't you take a little nap and I'll talk to Dad," Dean suggested in an airy voice and his brother nodded.

Standing up from the couch, Dean watched as Sam laid down, his back to the rest of the living room and his nose almost touching the cushions.

Taking up his beer bottle, Dean grabbed the root beer can and sighed when he found it full.

Bobby beckoned him into the kitchen and the younger man followed after setting the can of soda back down on the coffee table.

"Where's Dad?" Dean asked quietly as he sat down at the kitchen table.

"Out back somewhere," Bobby answered vaguely, "You want another beer?"

"Nah," Dean muttered and rested his chin on the heel of his hand.

Bobby said nothing as he watched John's eldest stare out into space, a small frown on his handsome face.

SPN

John stalked back inside by late afternoon and Bobby accosted him at the back door.

"Yer talking to yer sons, now."

The younger man didn't look happy about it but he didn't argue but followed Bobby into the living room.

Sam and Dean were sitting on the couch again, Dr. Monticello's pamphlets strewn out on the coffee table, waiting expectantly.

Bobby sat back down in his pink chair while John sat down in the matching blue one.

"Alright boys," Bobby encouraged, "Go on."

Dean told his father about the options Dr. Monticello had given Sam. John's face remained passive, emotionless, as his eldest spoke but he reacted once the boy was finished.

Standing, John ran his hands through his hair, "Both of those cost money; money I don't have."

Dean and Sam seemed to sag. Bobby glowered at their father.

"If you need cash, I have no problem paying for a school or a therapist," Bobby said but John shook his head.

"No, I can't let you do that," John argued, "This is our problem."

"Dad," Dean spoke up, "We don't have an option here. Sam needs help."

John's expression turned angry, "We wouldn't need any of this crap if Sam wasn't blind!"

Bobby saw the youngest Winchester flinch at the accusation in his father's words.

"This isn't Sam's fault!" Dean rose from the couch and glared at his Dad from across the coffee table, "There was nothing he could do! You know that!"

John snorted in derision, "He could have listened to me when I told him 'no.' He could have obeyed me and stayed with us!"

Dean snarled, "Oh, so Sam meant to get kidnapped?! He meant to have some asshole cut his kidney out and blind him!"

Bobby saw Sam's hand reach up and tug on his brother's shirt but Dean ignored him.

"John," the grizzled hunter said but he might as well have been invisible for all the attention the Winchesters paid him.

"You think Sam wanted to be trapped in some small cell, waiting to be poked and prodded day after day?" Dean continued, growling more than speaking.

"He shouldn't have left! It was dangerous! He knew it was dangerous and still he left!" John exclaimed.

The youngest Winchester shrank into himself, arms wrapped around his middle and his milky eyes closed as thought that would help shut out the enraged voices of his family.

"You let Sam go! You didn't so much as offer to drive him to the fucking bus station!" Dean looked ready to leap over the coffee table and strangle his father.

"I didn't see you jumping up to do it!" John replied and Bobby stepped in.

"SHUT UP! BOTH OF Y'ALL!" the two eldest Winchesters stared at the grizzled hunter, never having heard him raise his voice quite like that before.

"Sam may be blind ya idjits but he ain't deaf," he said in a quieter tone and Dean immediately blanched.

Bobby made a grab for his friend's shirt but John moved too quickly and stepped out of his reach.

"I'm going out," John muttered, "Do whatever you want."

"Balls," Bobby swore as the front door slammed shut. He glanced over at the boys and saw that Sam had tears leaking out from his closed eyes. Dean sat beside him; one arm around his shoulders and the other brushing Sam's long bangs back from his face.

Dean turned his sad gaze on Bobby.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked, sounding lost, "He didn't act like this when Sammy was missing but now…"

Bobby sighed, "He's scared and he's feeling guilty."

Dean's expression turned incredulous, "Yeah, he really seemed wracked with guilt."

Bobby shook his head, "It hurts John to know he failed Sam so pointing the finger at anyone but himself makes it easier to take."

Dean stared at the old hunter for a moment, "Thanks for that analysis, Freud."

Bobby chuckled humorlessly, "It's always easier to pin the blame on someone else. No one ever wants to admit they made a mistake."

Dean ducked his head and glanced at his brother.

"Dad didn't mean it," Bobby heard him whisper.

The veteran hunter hoped he was right and John was just trying to cope with his emotions, trying to deal with the knowledge that his youngest was blind and would never recover his sight. Giving the boys some privacy, Bobby walked into the kitchen and began boiling water for tea.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Sam struggled in vain against the straps holding him down to the operating table. His heart was pounding frantically in his chest and the bright light above his head caused sweat to bead on his brow.

Bates stood over him, silhouetted by the harsh glare of the lamp so the young man could not see his face.

"Please," Sam whimpered, "No more… let me go… please."

The doctor paid him no attention, instead he turned to one of the nurses- Sam startled when he saw her because her face was completely devoid of features; no mouth or nose or eyes- and took a scalpel from the tray she held up.

"No… not again," Sam whispered desperately, his eyes wide with terror.

With the doctor's face in shadows, the young man could not make out his expression but Sam was sure Bates was smiling.

The youngest Winchester began to panic when the doctor lowered the razor-sharp blade towards him, "No! No! Please don't! Please let me go! Don't hurt me any-"

Sam's protests turned into a scream of agony when the scalpel cut into him, the blade sinking into the flesh just beneath his sternum.

Hot blood leaked from the wound as Bates continued cutting. Tears flowed freely from Sam's eyes and onto the cold metal table.

"Nuh-No," Sam gasped weakly, "Ple-Please."

Bates ignored the young man. Setting the scalpel back on the tray the faceless nurse offered him and picked up an instrument that looked like a pipe wrench.

Sam writhed against the straps holding him down as his ribs cracked, the bones splintered and jagged.

The young man stared wide-eyed at the blood-smeared tool as Bates handed it to the nurse and lowered his gloved hands towards the incision he had made.

"You don't need this," the doctor said and Sam cried out in agony as something was ripped from his body.

A second faceless nurse appeared on Sam's other side, carrying a cooler used for transporting donated organs and disappeared after taking what the doctor had removed.

A kidney, Sam thought, it's a kidney… my kidney.

Bates lifted his head and stared at the young man for a long moment. Sam stared back, wondering if the doctor was going to take everything this time.

Sam gasped when Bates raised his hand and adjusted the overhead light, angling it so that the boy could see his face. It wasn't Bates any more. It was John.

Sam's father grinned insanely at his son and the young man renewed his struggles, blood and gore staining the floor and the table.

"Dad! No! You can't be… you can't be…" Sam cried, "Help me! Please!"

John continued to smile down at Sam, "You wanted to leave. You didn't listen to me."

"Let m-me go," Sam whimpered.

His father's brow furrowed for a second as though he was actually concerned for his son but then he raised one gloved hand and cupped Sam's cheek, "We could never see eye-to-eye, could we?"

Sam cringed at the feeling of warm blood on the side of his face, smeared from the glove, "Dad… please."

"I'm sorry, son," John said sadly, "But you should have stayed."

Sam bucked against the straps, crying out in panic when his father once again took up the scalpel, the blade now held directly at his son's right eye and moving steadily closer…

Sam awoke with a strangled gasp. He flailed against the blanket twisted around his body and let out a choked sob of fear and hopelessness.

"Sammy!" A voice called out and Sam felt hands grab his shoulders and press him down.

The young man punched out blindly with his fists, one hand connecting with the jaw of his captor.

"Damn it! Calm down!" the voice snarled, "It's me!"

Dean. It was Dean. Not Bates. Bates was gone. The mad doctor couldn't get him.

"D'n?" Sam whimpered and felt his brother pull him up into a sitting position and wrap his arms around him.

"Hey," Dean mumbled quietly, "It's alright. You're alright."

Sam felt the tension leave his body and he leaned gratefully into his brother, his head resting against Dean's shoulder.

"I'm s-sorry," Sam mumbled, his thrashing must have woken his sibling up.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, okay?" Dean told him, "Besides, I was awake anyway."

"Is Dad back yet?" Sam asked quietly. He felt Dean shake his head.

John hadn't returned from his fight with Dean and it was the middle of the night now.

"What are we going to do?" Sam wondered out loud.

Dean heaved a sigh, "We're not waiting for him. Bobby said he'd help out if we needed it and we can't keep putting this off. You need help."

Sam lowered his head. This was his fault. If he had never left for college like John had said, they wouldn't be in this position. Bobby shouldn't have to use his hard-earned money to pay for therapy for Sam; the youngest Winchester was reluctant to ask that of the veteran hunter. It wasn't fair to Bobby, it wasn't his responsibility.

"Hey," Dean's voice brought Sam from his thoughts, "Bobby wants to do this for us, Sam. He wants to help you."

"But Dad-" Sam began but Dean cut him off.

"Screw Dad! He can be an asshole if he wants to be but that doesn't mean he gets to hurt you."

Sam bit back a reply. He deserved his father's anger. He had been selfish. He hadn't been thinking about anyone but himself when he'd left to go to school. He should have known he'd never get the normal life he'd always dreamed of.

"Bobby's gonna call around tomorrow morning, see if he can get an occupational therapist to come over," Dean said in a confident voice. When John had stormed out of Bobby's house after his fight with Dean, the brothers and veteran hunter had decided- tentatively- to first try and contact an occupational therapist and then later- especially if he or she suggested it- they would consider enrolling Sam in the school for the blind in Aberdeen.

Sam didn't answer.

"Hey? You wanna stay on Bobby's couch for the rest of your life?" Dean asked teasingly and Sam smiled a little.

"I guess not," he mumbled.

"That's the spirit," Dean joked and unwrapped his arms from around his brother.

Sam leaned back against the couch cushions.

"You need anything? A glass of water?" Dean asked, concerned.

Sam shook his head, "I'm okay. I think I'm going to try and get some more sleep."

"Good idea," Dean answered and Sam listened as his brother got up from the couch and moved over to the chair he'd been sleeping on. The younger Winchester waited until his brother was settled before curling up on the couch, not bothering to pull the blanket back over himself and closed his eyes, seeing his father's maniacal smile against the darkness.

SPN

Dean watched his brother chew slowly on a piece of toast the next morning during breakfast. Bobby had offered Sam some scrambled eggs and bacon but the youngest Winchester had declined, saying that toast was fine.

Dean didn't have much of an appetite either. But he managed to eat everything on his plate.

Bobby pushed himself up from the table with a slight groan.

"I'm gonna go call some of those contacts Dr. Monticello gave ya," he told the brothers, "See what we can dig up."

"Sounds good," Dean answered, taking a sip of his coffee.

Sam didn't reply, he just continued to munch away on his toast.

Dean watched as Bobby shuffled out to the den and sat behind his Tyrannosaurus-sized desk and picked up the handset of the phone sitting there. After John had walked out, Bobby had gathered all the pamphlets and put them in one of the desk's drawers.

Turning his attention back to his brother, Dean sighed.

"You sure you don't want any bacon?" he asked for the tenth time since Bobby had made the stuff.

Sam shook his head.

"How can you refuse bacon? Heathen!" Dean joked, trying to get his brother to smile but Sam didn't even smirk.

"Everything's going to work out, Sammy," Dean said quietly.

"Sure, Dean," Sam mumbled.

"You finished?" Dean asked and his brother nodded. Dean grabbed the plates and set them by the sink. Sam stood up from the table but waited for his brother. Dean immediately took hold of his sibling's elbow and led him into the living room.

"Wanna sit outside for a little bit?" the older sibling suggested, wanting to give Bobby some privacy while he talked on the phone.

Sam shrugged and Dean continued on to the front door. Once they were on the porch, Dean led his brother over to one of the two wicker chairs sitting against the side of the house.

Sam sat down heavily with a tired sigh.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked, recalling Sam's bad dream the night before.

His younger brother shrugged one shoulder and raised a hand as if to rake his fingers through his hair.

Sam lowered his hand slowly and clutched at his knee instead.

Dean frowned. He really wanted to say something comforting but he wasn't sure what he could do to make this better.

The older brother startled when he heard Sam give a choked sob, as if he were trying to be quiet, and saw his sibling holding his face in his hands.

"Sam," Dean leaned forward and put a hand on his brother's leg, "Sammy, hey, stop that. C'mon. We're gonna get you help."

Sam just shook his head and moved his leg out from underneath his sibling's hand.

"Sam," Dean tried again, his voice firmer, his tone more commanding this time but his brother still did not respond.

Dean let his brother cry for a little while longer before sighing. Standing, he moved so that he was crouched in front of Sam.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, keeping his tone neutral, "Is it that fight with Dad? 'Cause he was an ass to say those things. You couldn't have known what was going to happen."

"Are you going to leave me?" Sam asked; his voice barely a whisper, sounding scared and lost.

"Leave you? What? No, of course not. Why would I leave you?" Dean asked, flabbergasted by the question.

"Dad's gone," Sam answered simply. Sure, John and Sam didn't always get along- they fought more often than not- but that didn't mean that they didn't love each other and having his father walk out made his youngest feel rejected.

"Dad's an idiot," Dean snarled, "Besides, he'll come back; he always does, right?"

Sam nodded. If John was good at one other thing besides hunting it was coming back to his sons, always.

"Look, I know it seems like Dad's thrown in the towel but trust me, he hasn't," Dean assured Sam, "He just needs some time to cool off and think things over. Remember when you were nine and wanted to join the softball team in that one town we were at… somewhere in New York State-"

"Poughkeepsie," Sam answered automatically and Dean smiled.

"Yeah, anyway, you asked and Dad flipped; wanted to know why you were more interested in sports than hunting. Remember when he left and didn't come back until late the next day and said that you could play as long as the case kept us there?" Dean continued.

Although the situation wasn't quite the same, Dean hoped Sam would realize that John would eventually return and- he hoped- have sorted his shit out.

Sam nodded and wiped at his milky eyes. He knew he shouldn't be crying like this but he supposed he got a free chick-flick pass for a while, at least until they had something in the works to help him.

Dean stood and squeezed his brother's shoulder comfortingly. Normally, he'd pick on Sam for sobbing like a little girl but all he had to do was think about how close he had come to losing him and all thoughts of teasing the younger man immediately vanished.

SPN

John clenched the Impala's steering wheel tight enough to make his fingers hurt.

None of this would have happened if Sam hadn't been so Goddamn stubborn. Sam wouldn't be blind now if he had just obeyed his father's order.

John refused to think about the fact that he could have seen Sam to the college himself like Dean had said.

Oh no, they weren't pinning the blame on him. Sam was eighteen. An adult and he could have asked for a ride but he had just stormed out of the motel room without a backwards glance.

Now Sam was blind and couldn't do what either of them wanted; no higher education and no hunting.

John felt a mean sense of satisfaction that at least Sam wouldn't be running away from his family anytime soon.

The eldest Winchester didn't know what to do. He and Dean could still hunt but John knew that his oldest boy wouldn't leave Sam behind and the youngest would only be a burden to them if they took him on the road.

John cursed his youngest boy for his stupidity and pulled into the parking lot of a local bar. It was still fairly early and the tavern was nearly deserted but John didn't care. He needed a drink.

Killing the Impala's engine, John stepped into the dimly lit pub and made his way towards the back where he would be left alone to mull over his son's mistakes in peace.

A young waitress wandered over to the booth almost as soon as John sat down.

"What can I get you?" she asked. She looked to be about Sam's age, with long reddish hair and wide green eyes. John could see a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

"Just a beer," he answered gruffly, making it known that he was not in the mood for conversation.

"Coming right up," the waitress replied in a tone that told John she was used to surely booze-hounds and turned her back to him as she went to the bar.

John closed his eyes for a long moment and just listened to the sounds around him- the low music, murmurs of conversation from across the room, the clink of bottles and shot glasses as they were moved about and cleaned- before opening them again, relieved at the sight of the waitress as she returned with his beer.

W

John scattered a few bill on the table and stood. It was late but he didn't want to go back to Bobby's, he didn't want to face his sons just yet. He didn't want to see Dean's angry, disgusted expression or Sam's wan features and milky eyes.

The Impala's door creaked when he opened it and slid into the driver's seat. Turning the key in the ignition, John reached out and closed the door with a slam.

Pulling out of the parking lot, John cruised around the town of Sioux Falls until he found a small motel on the outskirts. He decided he could stay there for the night.

The older woman behind the counter didn't look twice at John when he stepped into the Office- Sioux Falls wasn't a large city and mostly saw people passing through- and went back to the scarf she was knitting.

"I'd like a room for the night," John said and the woman nodded, setting her knitting aside.

With arthritic slowness, the woman stood up and went to the row of key-fobs on the wall behind her chair and plucked the one for room 5. She leaned heavily against the desk when she turned around to face John. The father took the key from the woman's gnarled hand and gave her the money she asked for. He didn't say anything more than he had to; he wasn't really in the mood to be friendly, even to a harmless old woman.

John left the Office and walked down the sidewalk towards his car. The motel parking lot was busier than the bar had been. Five cars were positioned in front of their respective owners' rooms. He knew that by morning most of the vehicles would be gone, their owners heading towards their intended destinations.

John sighed. He wished he could be like one of those civilians already content in their motel rooms; where they didn't have to wake up the next morning and face his reality. John wished he could just get into the Impala and drive away, put Sioux Falls in his rearview mirror and forget all his problems.

He supposed he could do that but something stopped him. He didn't know what exactly. His sons were adults now and certainly didn't need him around- besides, they had Bobby- but he knew that Dean would never forgive him if he left. If it was Sam it would have been different, John's youngest had made it clear long ago exactly how he felt about his father and it pissed the eldest Winchester off to no end. But Dean, he had always looked up to his father, had emulated him even before the night their lives had changed forever and John couldn't do that to his boy, just disappear.

Although John wouldn't leave for Dean, that didn't mean he wouldn't keep a low profile for a while; even if it was only for a night.

Driving around to his room, John wondered what his sons were doing at that moment, what Bobby was doing.

Were they talking about him? Were they arguing? Were they researching that school in Aberdeen?

Unlocking the motel room door, John sighed and wiped a hand over his face. He knew he should be there, that he was expected to be there but he just couldn't deal with that shit right now.

The room was small and old but relatively clean; John saw but barely noticed. He shrugged off his jacket and sat down at the tiny wooden table in the corner, glancing at the white, business card-sized piece of paper that informed him that 'Ellie' had prepared the room.

John blinked and yawned, unusually tired. Maybe it was all the stress of the day finally getting to him.

John decided he should get some shut-eye; at least he wouldn't have to think about his youngest anymore, when his cell phone vibrated in his jacket pocket.

At first he ignored it, thinking that it was Dean and hoped that his son could take the hint and leave him alone but ten seconds after the vibrations stopped, they started up again, sounding almost urgent.

Grumbling, the eldest Winchester grabbed the phone from his pocket and answered the call before it could go to voicemail.

"Yeah?" he snapped, but it wasn't Dean's voice who replied.

"Is everything alright John?" Pastor Jim Murphy's voice startled the father and for a moment he didn't answer.

"Uh… Jim," John managed, "What's up? Haven't heard from you in ages."

"Caleb and Josh told me what happened to Sam," the Pastor explained, "I saw the raid on the hospital on the news."

"Yeah," John mumbled, "So… uh, why're you calling?"

Jim sighed loudly enough for the eldest Winchester to hear and John wished he'd just ignored his phone.

"They haven't heard from you and they were worried," Jim told his friend, "Said they made you promise to keep them posted."

"Shit," John swore; he'd completely forgotten about that.

"I also received a rather angry phone call from Ellen Harvelle," John could hear the smirk in the Pastor's voice, "and she so kindly informed me that if you don't bring Sam by the Roadhouse soon, she's going to find you and fill your ass with buckshot."

John ground his teeth together. Why couldn't they leave him and his family alone? Sure, he'd made a promise to his friends but he was always making empty promises. In the life they led, letdowns were expected.

"I don't see Blacker or Josh calling me up!" John growled, "And what does Ellen know? She's doesn't even know Sam! Why does she care?"

There was a pause on the other end before Jim spoke.

"John, those men and that woman are your friends," he said softly, "They care about you and your boys; they just want to know if everything is alright. From what Caleb told me, Sam was in a bad way when you reached him."

John sagged. He didn't mean to snap at Jim, he hadn't meant to ignore his friends- Lord knew he had so few of them already- but the stress of the past days was really getting to him.

"No," John answered, "No, not everything is okay."

"John? What happened? Is Sam alright?" Jim's voice sounded worried now and it made the father feel even worse.

"Sam's blind!" John nearly shouted and silence followed. Jim made no reply and John couldn't say anything else.

Sam was useless now. He couldn't hunt if he couldn't see what he was supposed to be fighting and he couldn't research if he couldn't read.

"I'm so sorry," Jim said, "I didn't know."

John grunted an unintelligible reply.

"I guess you'd have to find out sometime," the father said more clearly.

"Is there anything I can do?" Jim wondered.

John shook his head, "No, just let Caleb and Josh know… Ellen too, if you see her."

"Alright John, I will," the Pastor promised, "I'll keep this as quiet as I can."

"Thanks," the father said and ended the call.

He wondered how long it would take before every hunter in the States knew what had happened to his son. Although John trusted Jim to only speak to his friends, Joshua or Caleb might slip, Ellen might mention something innocuous to a customer, and then everyone in the hunting community would know about the blind Winchester boy.

John knew that most hunters would gossip among themselves and keep their noses out of his business but there were assholes everywhere and he knew that soon enough someone was bound to come sniffing around.

Even though Sam hadn't been affected by the supernatural, it wasn't like he'd been turned by a vamp or werewolf, there were those among hunters that would see John's youngest as a liability to his father and any partners he took cases with. John knew that Sam's new state made his job all the more dangerous, he didn't deny that, but his business was his own and he would tell off any hunter who tried to tell him what to do.

John set his phone on the table and turned out the room's overhead light. In the dark he made his way over to one of the beds and laid down without taking off his shoes or clothes.

What was he going to do with Sam?

W

John climbed out of bed early the next morning and shuffled over to his phone, checking for any unread messages out of habit more than from interest.

Jim must have worked fast; there were texts from Caleb and voicemails from both Joshua and Ellen.

Ignoring them, John stared down at his wrinkled shirt and ran a hand through his mussed hair. Sighing, John left the motel room and walked the same path as he had the night before to the Office.

The woman at the counter looked like a younger version of the elderly lady who had served John the night before. She took his key-fob without a word and turned away from him.

Getting into the Impala, John exited the parking lot and headed towards Bobby's Salvage Yard.

The drive was short and didn't give John enough time to sort out what he was going to say when he arrived. He shrugged; he guessed it didn't really matter because if the fight the day before had told him anything, Dean was going to be doing most of the talking.

John drove up the gravel path that led to Bobby's ramshackle house at a crawl. He didn't know if his sons or friend would be awake yet and he didn't want to startle them if they were still asleep.

The father frowned when he caught sight of the homestead and saw Sam and Dean sitting in wicker chairs on the front porch.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Dean looked up at the unmistakable sound of the Impala's engine. John was back. He watched as the classic Chevy slowly made its way up the drive and stopped. John didn't get out of the car.

"Is that Dad?" Sam asked, leaning forward slightly, his milky eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean answered and reached over to put his hand on his brother's knee.

The screen door opened and Bobby stepped out onto the porch, glancing at the Impala for only a moment before turning to the boys.

"I got a hold of an occupational therapist," he said, smiling triumphantly, "Her name's Rayann Muir. She said she'd be able to come by the day after tomorrow."

"Why not today?" Dean asked. He wanted to get Sam help as soon as possible.

"She said she'd try to figure out a schedule with us when she got here but for now it's the best she can do," Bobby explained.

Dean saw his brother's gaze lower.

"Don't worry, Sam," he said encouragingly, "It's gonna be fine."

Sam nodded but didn't reply.

Bobby's eyes took in the Impala and he scratched his head beneath his baseball cap, "Yer Daddy planning on joining us or is he just gonna sit there all day?"

Dean shrugged, "I don't know. Why don't you go ask him?"

Bobby shook his head, "Nah, let 'im stew a little longer."

Turning to Dean, the veteran hunter frowned, "You boys alright out here?"

"We're fine," the eldest answered, "Right Sam?"

"Yeah," he answered quietly.

Bobby nodded and went back inside, the screen door slamming shut behind him.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean stood up and went to the railing that surrounded the perimeter of the porch, leaning his forearms across the weathered wood, "Remember Poughkeepsie."

Dean hoped that John had sorted his shit out- at least some of it- and wouldn't say anything stupid in front of Sam.

As if he was aware that his eldest was thinking about him, John opened the driver's side door and stepped out. Dean could see from his father's expression that John had drank some the night before- not enough to have a hangover- but his eyes were a little too glassy, his face a little too haggard.

"Damn it, Dad," Dean muttered under his breath but smiled as John stalked towards the porch.

"Morning," Dean said once his father was within hearing-range. John grunted an unintelligible greeting.

"Bobby found a therapist for Sammy," Dean said before John had even reached the steps, "She'll be here on Saturday. Isn't that great?"

Dean caught sight of the sneer just about to form on his father's face before John sighed and nodded, "Yeah."

Dean didn't say anything else as John climbed the porch stepped and paused, looking at his youngest son.

"Hi Dad," Sam offered, his gaze far away.

"What are you doing out here?" John asked by way of greeting.

"I… uh…" Sam stammered, clearly uncomfortable with voicing the reason he was sitting outside.

"It's such a nice day that I thought we could sit out for a while," Dean spoke up, "Better than inhaling all that dust that's floating around the house."

John didn't reply, he just walked right past Sam and went inside.

"Jesus Sam," Dean sighed, turning to his brother, "He's not going to bite your head off, you know."

"I know, Dean," Sam insisted, "But I…"

"What Sam?" his brother pressed, "What is it? Are you worried he's gonna yell at you again? If he does I'll punch his lights out. Seriously."

Sam chuckled slightly and shook his head, "I disappointed him, Dean."

Dean sighed and ran a hand over his face, "Sam, we've been over this-"

"No Dean, listen," Sam interrupted, "I was never a good hunter. He always depended on you. I just got stuck with research most of the time-"

"I thought you loved that kind of thing," Dean smirked.

"I do… I did," Sam admitted. Research was far better than nearly getting himself killed during a hunt, "But that's not the point. I was a disappointment to Dad 'cause I was never as good as you or him. I wanted to go to school instead of practicing Latin; I wanted to go to dances and movies instead of stake-outs. So when I left to go to school, I figured that at least if I was a disappointment as a hunter than I could try and make Dad proud of me if I became a lawyer. I thought Dad would be proud that I got into college. But I couldn't even do that right…"

"Sam," Dean said after his brother's explanation, "What happened wasn't your fault."

Dean didn't say that he was sure John would have been disappointed in Sam even if he managed to get to Stanford and became a big-shot lawyer because he was turning his back on what reality, trying to cover up the truth with an apple-pie life.

"Sammy," Dean began but his brother was no longer listening. Dean sat back down in his chair and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of birds and cicadas, the wind through the tree branches and the two veteran hunters speaking quietly from inside the house.

SPN

Bobby didn't offer the younger man a beer when John came in. He watched John as he stepped inside and ran a hand through his dark hair, sighing as if he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"So, this therapist you've got lined up for Sam," John began without any greeting, "How much are they charging?"

"Is that all you care about?" Bobby grumbled, "How much money you need to spend to help yer son?"

John's dark eyes flashed with anger, "What's it to you?"

"What's it to me?" Bobby growled, "That boy is your son! Your child and you don't wanna cough up some money to help him become independent! Do you even want Sam to get better?"

"I told you before, Singer, this is not your problem!" John snapped, "Sam and Dean are my son's, not yours!"

"Than act like they're yours!" Bobby shouted back at his friend.

Instead of getting into a screaming match with the burly hunter John turned on his heel and stormed out the door.

Bobby ran after the younger man in time to see John grab Dean from his chair, "We're leaving."

"What? No!" Dean exclaimed and pulled his arm from his father's grasp.

"Dean," John said in a deadly voice, "Get in the car."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dean snapped, "I'm not going anywhere."

Bobby felt a cold hand touch his arm and he jumped, Sam was standing right beside him, unseeing eyes wide with fear.

"Dean?" Sam asked nervously, trying to find his brother. He took a step forward so that he was right behind him.

"John, knock it off!" Bobby growled, he reached out to tug Sam away from the two men but the boy was too far away.

"John, stop! Pay attention!" Bobby insisted. Sam was moving cautiously but steadily towards the edge of the porch.

"I'm your father and you will do as I say!" John snarled but Dean just shook his head, "You can leave but I'm not. I'm staying here with Sam."

Bobby almost didn't believe what happened next. John pulled his fist back to hit his eldest as Dean stepped back, running into his brother at the same time.

Sam, who was still unsteady on his feet, flailed for a moment, his arms flung out to grab onto something, anything without success.

In seconds he crashed over the side of the porch, the wood railing weak and rotting giving way under his weight.

John's fist just barely missed Dean's head. The younger man stunned by the startled cry Sam made as he fell.

"Sam!" Dean gasped and leaped off the porch where the railing had broken, "Sammy!"

Bobby hurried down the steps to try and help. He saw Sam lying on his back amongst the remains of the railing, a shocked expression on his youthful face.

John didn't move. He stood on the porch, looking down at the scene playing out on Bobby's long with a stunned expression on his face.

"Sam? Sammy, are you alright?" Dean asked frantically, "No, don't try to talk. Don't move."

The fall hadn't been that far, barely five feet but with Sam's injuries from the hospital, the fall that would normally just stun could be serious.

Dean leaned over his brother's face, trying to check his pupils. He had both hands on either side of his brother's face, trying to gauge his brother's injuries.

"Dean?" Sam muttered; blood leaked from the corner of his mouth and his brother hoped to God the kid had just bitten his tongue on the way down.

"Shhh," Dean murmured, "I'm here."

"What can I do?" Bobby asked, hovering protectively over both boys.

"Get the First Aid kit!" Dean demanded and Bobby vaulted up the porch steps, past John and into the house. He went straight to the kitchen and grabbed the kit that was beneath the sink.

He prayed that the blood he'd seen on the kid's lips wasn't anything serious. A trip to Sioux Falls General was the last thing Sam Winchester needed right now.

Stepping out onto the porch again, Bobby grabbed John's shoulder and squeezed hard, "Get some towels!"

John turned to Bobby but he apparently didn't hear him.

"Are yer ears painted on?" Bobby snapped, "Towels. Now."

Not wasting any more time, Bobby hurried down the steps and landed on his knees beside Dean, grimacing as the joints popped.

"I can't tell if he has a concussion," Dean said. Sam was squinting up at the sky, silent. Dean wiped the blood away from his brother's mouth with his sleeve.

"Sam," Dean called his brother's name, "Can you tell me what hurts?"

Sam closed his eyes for a moment, "My… back… wrist."

Dean glanced down at his brother's left arm; it was scraped and bleeding, the wrist already starting to swell. Sam must have landed on it when he fell, Dean realized.

Bobby opened the First Aid kit and took out a package of antiseptic swabs, handing them to Dean.

The young man tore the package open and unfolded the moist cloth.

"This'll sting a little bit," Dean said gently and began carefully wiping his brother's arm with the cloth.

Sam hissed but didn't protest. Once his arm was free of blood and grit, Dean got a roll of gauze and a tensor bandage from Bobby.

With practiced ease, Dean quickly wrapped Sam's wrist and settled it on his chest.

"We should get him up," Bobby said and Dean nodded, carefully helping his brother sit up. Dean positioned himself so that Sam was leaning into him, his chin on Dean's shoulder. Bobby moved so that he could examine Sam's back, pulling the young man's shirt up carefully.

The veteran hunter flinched at the bruises already forming on the pale skin. Sam's shoulder blades were scraped and oozing blood. The nearly-healed incision on his side was covered in dirt.

"Shit," Bobby muttered and used the antiseptic wipes while Dean murmured comfortingly to his brother.

W

Between the two of them, Bobby and Dean got Sam up and back into the house. Dean helped Sam sit on the couch and took a seat beside him, keeping an eye on his brother in case he did have a concussion.

Bobby made his way to the kitchen, washed his hands and turned around to see John seated at the table, a pile of old threadbare towels in front of him and a guilty expression on his face.

Bobby didn't say anything at first; he just puttered around the room as though John wasn't there, boiling water and making tea, shaking a couple of painkillers out onto the counter and filling up a glass of water.

"You gonna sit there like a lump or are you going to see your boys?" Bobby asked as he set everything out on a TV tray and disappeared into the living room.

He heard the chair scrape across the linoleum floor and smiled slightly.

"Here Dean," Bobby offered the pain medication and cup to the older boy, "Have Sam take these."

"Thanks Bobby," Dean muttered and turned back to his brother.

Bobby sat down in the blue wing-back chair that Karen had said she couldn't live without.

John moved close to the couch, looking sheepish and guilty.

"How is he, Dean?" the father asked nervously.

The younger man didn't answer for a moment, "He's hurting but he'll be okay, I think."

Bobby watched as Dean leaned forward as his brother's eyes closed, "Hey, Sammy, gotta keep those eyes open, okay?"

The younger man nodded and his milky eyes slipped open slowly.

"Sam?" John said carefully, "Are you alright, son?"

Sam didn't reply so John continued, "It was an accident."

Bobby watched Dean turn his head sharply to his father, looking like he was about to snap at the man but he didn't.

"Dad, maybe you should take a walk or something," John's eldest suggested, the underlying tone quite clear. Dean didn't want his father near his brother.

"Oh… Okay," John muttered, looking lost for a moment and slipped past Bobby without saying a word.

The grizzled hunter was shocked at the sudden change in the younger man. One moment he was a rage-filled brute, ready to become physical with his own son and the next he was a guilt-ridden mess.

Bobby got up from his chair and stepped outside, seeing his friend standing at the edge of the porch where the railing had broken.

"John?" he asked softly, "You alright?"

The younger man didn't answer and Bobby was alarmed to see his shoulders shaking.

"I hurt him," John said quietly, "I didn't mean to."

Bobby didn't know what to say. Sure, his actions had caused his youngest son harm but he also had been intending to hit his oldest boy.

The older hunter stepped up beside his friend, "What were you thinking?"

Bobby's words were spoken carefully, holding no judgment.

"I don't know," John admitted, "I just… How can we get past this? How can I make this better? Dean hates me… Sam barely speaks to me…"

Bobby took his baseball cap off and ran his hand through his thinning hair before replacing the battered hat. This was a first; John Winchester asking for his help.

"Well, first off you can stop blaming Sam for what happened," Bobby stated matter-of-factly.

John cringed, "If he hadn't left than-"

Bobby held up his hand, "Don't you think Sam knows that?"

John nodded but didn't say anything.

"Kid was only trying to do what he thought you wanted," Bobby continued, "He wasn't great at hunting so he probably thought it'd be better for everyone if he took himself out of that life. At least he'd live long enough to hit the legal drinking age."

John nodded and Bobby could have sworn he saw a tear slip down the younger man's face.

"Talk to him, John," Bobby said earnestly, "You're his father. You need to be there for Sam. Let him know he's not alone."

"But how? What do I say?" John asked and Bobby shook his head, "I can't tell you. That you'll just have to figure out on your own."

John gave a watery inhale and Bobby raised an eyebrow, "You think you're scared right now? Think of what Sam's going through."

The younger hunter nodded mutely.

"And Dean… he's not going to let me anywhere near Sam," John said, still not looking at his friend.

"Show him that you really care about them," Bobby said, "Let them know that you're there and are going to stay there for them."

John nodded.

Bobby remained silent for a long moment before speaking up, "You can start now."

"Huh?" John asked, glancing at Bobby with his brows furrowed in confusion.

"That railing needs fixing," Bobby pointed to the space where the wood had broken, "You can start showing that you care by working on that."

John opened his mouth to speak but Bobby was already at the doorstep, seconds later he had ducked inside, leaving the younger hunter standing alone on the porch.

SPN

Sam was incredibly tired. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep. But Dean wouldn't let him. Dean kept talking to him, telling him to stay awake if his eyes closed for a bit too long.

His back ached fiercely and he couldn't remember why. His wrist throbbed with pain but when Sam glanced down at the gauze and tensor bandage covering it, he couldn't recall where he'd received the injury.

Sam closed his eyes. It wasn't like there was very much to see anyway, nothing but a permanent white mist.

"Sammy! Hey! You can sleep later, buddy!" Dean's voice was very loud in Sam's ear and he grumbled. Why couldn't his brother just leave him alone?

Sam flinched away when his brother lifted one eyelid with his thumb, "Don't!"

"You gotta stay awake, Sam. You might have a concussion," Dean told him.

Sam couldn't quite remember what the word 'concussion' meant but he knew it was bad.

"Kay…" Sam muttered and tried to find a more comfortable position on the couch, one that didn't cause his back to shriek with pain whenever he put pressure on it.

SPN

Dean glanced up when Bobby walked back inside.

"How's he doing?" the grizzled hunter asked and Dean shrugged.

"He's pretty out of it."

Bobby nodded and Dean frowned at the trouble expression on his face.

"What? What's wrong?"

"We have to make sure Sam's kidney's alright," Bobby said, "Make sure it didn't get too bumped up when he fell."

Dean nodded and swallowed nervously. Although the drop had not been a long one, it wasn't all that difficult to damage a kidney and since Sam only had one…

"What should I look out for?" He asked Bobby.

"Uh…" Bobby scratched his head for a moment, "I know Jefferson left some pamphlets around here somewhere…"

Dean watched as the older hunter sorted through a stack of paper odds and ends on his desk before pulling out a pamphlet distributed by the American Kidney Foundation.

"Swelling in the legs, face, or hands… rashes… nausea and vomiting… change in urination…" Bobby stopped and sighed, "Also fatigue, back pain, dizziness."

Dean frowned, "Well we might not know if anything's wrong until Sam gets over the concussion."

Bobby nodded and handed the pamphlet over to Dean for further consultation.

The eldest Winchester read the signs and symptoms of kidney failure, every so often speaking to his brother to make sure Sam hadn't fallen asleep, and hoped that his sibling wasn't in danger of a very long hospital stay.

After a while Dean began hearing strange noises coming from out the front door: Hammering and sawing and the odd curse.

Getting up from the couch, Dean stretched and wandered to peer out the front window that showed a view of the yard and porch.

Dean stared dumbfounded at the sight of his father, hammer in one hand, a bouquet of mails in the other as he scrutinized a couple of two by fours sitting on the porch.

John Winchester was fixing the broken railing.

Dean jumped when Bobby stepped up beside him and handed him a root beer.

"What did you say to him?" Dean asked the older hunter and Bobby just winked.

"Someone had to fix that railing and I sure as hell wasn't going to ask you to do it," Bobby answered and Dean smirked a little bit.

The young man opened the can of soda and took a long gulp of the beverage. Wandering back to the couch, Dean sat down beside his brother. Sam's milky eyes were open and he turned his head in Dean's general direction when he felt the cushion dip down next to him.

"You want something to drink?" Dean asked and Sam nodded.

"Okay, I'll be right back," Dean stood up and went into the kitchen. He grabbed a glass and filled it with water and immediately went to the pantry, plucking a pink straw from the container that he had found sitting at the very back of the shelf.

Although Dean had worried Sam would complain that drinking out of a straw was for kids or sick people, his younger brother hadn't said a word when Dean had first given him one.

It kept embarrassing spills to a minimum and Dean knew that his brother was grateful for that bit of dignity.

"You want some lunch?" Bobby asked, walking into the kitchen after Dean.

The younger man shrugged, "I'm fine for now."

Bobby, who would normally be stunned at Dean's refusal to eat, simply nodded. The older boy would not eat or sleep or move far away from his brother's side until he was certain Sam was well again.

"But yer gonna eat dinner," Bobby told Dean and the younger man nodded.

Dean went back into the living room and sat down beside his brother once more, "Sam!"

The youngest Winchester's eyes slid open at the sound of his name.

"I've got some water for you," Dean told him and guided the glass into his brother's hands, maneuvering the straw so Sam didn't have to search for it.

Dean leaned back while his brother drank the water, picking up his own can of root beer from where he'd set it on the coffee table and listened to the sounds of Bobby puttering around in the kitchen and John hammering away out on the porch.

Slipping an arm around his brother's shoulders, Dean smiled when Sam leaned into him like he used to do when they were younger.

"Everything's gonna be okay, Sammy," Dean whispered, "I promise."


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Sam gripped his brother's hand tightly, nervously, but Dean didn't mind. He just squeezed Sam's fingers in return.

"Don't worry Sammy," Dean whispered, "Bobby talked to her on the phone and said she was really nice."

Sam nodded but didn't reply. Dean could just imagine how anxious his brother was.

"And besides," the older teen smirked, "Who could be mean to you with a face like that?"

Sam chuckled and managed to elbow Dean in the ribs, sending both brothers into fits of laughter.

Dean looked over to where their father was sitting in one of Bobby's wing-back chairs and John gave him a smile that was more of a grimace. Dean turned back to his sibling.

Dean still hadn't forgiven his Dad quite yet for trying to force him to leave Sam. Or for nearly punching him. Or for causing Sam's accident.

John had been trying to talk to Sam but Dean stayed close to his brother, only ever really leaving his side when he needed to take care of his own personal needs.

Sam didn't remember much about falling off the porch. He knew that Dean and their father had been arguing and he remembered Bobby trying to keep him back but he'd wanted to get to his brother.

Sam didn't know that John had tried to hit his eldest son and Dean wasn't about to divulge that information. Instead, he'd told Sam that he had stepped back, meaning to go back into the house and had knocked Sam over the railing.

Sam had listened to Dean's story but the incredulous look on his face told his older brother he didn't really believe him. Thankfully Sam didn't ask for the real version of events.

Besides being sore and suffering a badly sprained wrist, Sam had come out of the accident virtually unscathed.

Bobby, for his part, hadn't tried to diffuse the tension between father and son. It wasn't his business, really, and something that the two parties needed to work out between themselves. Dean was sure though, that if Sam ended up in the middle of an argument again, he and John would be shown the front door faster than the grizzled hunter could say 'idjits'.

Bobby came into the living room, carrying a tray with a teapot, five cups and a plate of store-bought oatmeal cookies on it.

"You're becoming a regular housewife, aren't you?" Dean chuckled and the hunter shot him a glare.

All four men jumped at the sound of an approaching car.

"Is that her?" Sam asked anxiously.

John stood and peered out the front window, parting the yellowing lace curtain slightly.

"Looks like," he muttered and Dean felt his brother grow tense beside him.

"You'll do great, Sammy," Dean assured his brother. He watched as Bobby walked over to stand with John and waited to meet the therapist.

Bobby opened the front door as soon as he heard a knocking on the other side and smiled.

Dean leaned forward to try and get a good look at the person who was supposed to help his brother.

The first thing Dean noticed about Rayann Muir was that she was tiny; short and small-boned. She had a thin, though not unpleasant face with button-like eyes, a sharp nose and a mouth that was clearly used to smiling. Rayann wore comfortable clothing; jeans and sneakers, a blue t-shirt with a grey sports hoodie over it. Her ash blonde hair was done up in a high ponytail at the back of her head. She couldn't be much older than Dean himself was.

Rayann greeted Bobby and John in a soft yet assertive voice; she reached out to shake their hands while she set a gym bag down on the floor.

"I'm Sam's father," John said and shook Rayann's offered hand, a slightly perplexed expression on his face. Clearly he wasn't expecting the petite, athletically-built young woman when he'd pictured the therapist.

"You must be Mr. Singer," Rayann greeted Bobby, apparently matching his voice to his gruff appearance.

The veteran hunter nodded and guided Rayann into the den. Dean stood up immediately, one hand on Sam's shoulder protectively.

"This is my eldest son, Dean," John gestured and Dean shook Rayann's hand when she approached, "And this is Sam."

Dean watched curiously as Rayann took Sam's hand herself and shook his, smiling when Sam tightened his fingers around hers almost instantly.

"Nice to meet you, Sam," Rayann said, not at all deterred by his milky eyes or his shaved hair.

"You too," Dean's brother replied quietly.

"Why don't you sit down, Miss Muir," John offered and Rayann sat down in one of the wing-back chairs, thanking the hunter.

"I know we spoke on the phone but is there anything else we should tell you?" Bobby asked and poured Rayann a cup of tea.

Dean knew that Bobby had explained Sam's blindness as the result of an accident. The hunter hadn't been very specific with the details while on the phone and Dean hoped that they would stay that way. Bobby had explained to the Winchesters that he couldn't tell the therapist that Sam was blind as a result of a cornea transplant without explain why he'd needed such an operation in the first place. Since Sam was just now learning how to function without his sight, it wouldn't be reasonable to say he'd needed a procedure that was often perform on individuals who were already blind or had very low vision. Dean hoped that Rayann wouldn't get to curious and examine Sam's eyes too closely because she was likely to see the sutures.

Rayann took a sip of tea before answering, "I think you covered just about everything during our conversation, Mr. Singer."

Bobby nodded, "Please, call me Bobby."

The therapist agreed, with a smile.

John cleared his throat and spoke up, "Is there anything we should know or something we can do to help?"

Dean nodded. He would be with Sam every step of the way if that was what it took to get his brother back to his normal, pain-in-the-ass self.

Rayann nodded, her expression turning serious for the first time.

"I'd like to speak to you privately if that's alright."

Dean tensed; he didn't like the thought of his brother being alone, even if he was still close by.

"Whatever you've got to say you can tell it to all-" he began, bristling, but his father interrupted.

"Dean," John said warningly. Dean glowered at his father menacingly, letting John knew he was displeased with him.

"I can stay with Sam while you talk to Rayann," Bobby suggested, "If that's alright with you?"

The therapist nodded. While on the phone Bobby had told Rayann that he was a family friend and the Winchesters were simply staying with him until Sam was well enough- and confident enough- to head back out on their own. Most of Rayann's work would be to prepare Sam to return to the nomadic life he'd been trying to leave only a few weeks ago before that fateful night in Kettering, Ohio.

Although Bobby would be just as happy to see Sam stay with him, he knew that the young man would never agree to it without Dean and John would not let both his sons stop hunting, especially his eldest.

John stood up first; a little too eager in Dean's opinion and led the way as Bobby and then his eldest son followed him out onto the porch.

Dean glanced over his shoulder before the door closed behind him, smiling when he saw Rayann sit down in his vacated spot beside Sam.

John leaned against the repaired portion of the railing and crossed his arms casually over his chest.

"What do you think they're going to talk about?" Dean asked out loud.

"P'robly wants to hear about what's happened to Sam from himself," Bobby grunted, moving to stand beside John.

Dean fidgeted anxiously. He didn't like leaving his brother alone, especially with someone who was practically a stranger.

"Relax, son," Bobby muttered, "She told me over the phone that she don't bite."

Dean didn't even crack a smile.

John turned to his friend, "How much is she charging for this?"

Bobby looked like he wanted to smack the younger man upside the head, "Don't worry about it."

John unfolded his arms and moved so that he faced the older man, "Are you paying?"

Bobby simply shrugged, "You have to save up your money for ammo and rock salt."

"Sam's my son," John said, "My responsibility; you don't have to do that."

"But I was the one who offered to help y'all in the first place," Bobby replied evenly, "An' in my books that don't just mean putting a roof over yer heads."

John blinked, shocked and Dean almost chuckled at the sight of his father struck dumb by his friend's generosity.

John couldn't have known, as Bobby and Sam and Dean did, that the grizzled hunter was like a second father to the Winchester boys, and that he would do anything for them because they were family, whether they were blood or not. John was very possessive, always had been and always would be, and although he considered Bobby a friend, he assumed that the veteran hunter was only that to Sam and Dean as well.

"Uh… well," John muttered, "I…"

"You owe me one, Winchester," Bobby grunted but Dean could see from the smile on his face that the grizzled hunter would never come collecting. He was helping out a friend and that was that.

SPN

Sam couldn't help but be nervous. This was all new to him. He wasn't sure what to expect of Rayann Muir. He hoped she could help him. He'd rarely felt as lost as he had since Dr. Bates had blinded him. He had no idea what he was supposed to do next.

Sam shifted on the couch beside the occupational therapist and grimaced in pain. The bruises on his back he'd gained from his fall from the porch still smarted and the healing scrapes on his shoulder blades stung.

Sam didn't complain about the pain though. From what Bobby and Dean had said, it could have been much worse. Besides, this pain was nothing to what he'd felt after the mad doctor had operated on him.

"Are you alright, Sam?" Rayann asked and startled the young man slightly.

Sam nodded, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Sam," Rayann said in her soft, confident tone, "I wanted to ask you about the past few days. Bobby told me you had your accident very recently and haven't yet had a chance to really adapt to being blind."

Sam looked down, his hands twisting anxiously. He calculated that it had been at least a week- given a day or two- since he'd awoken in the hospital room, unable to see. Sam was now slightly ashamed that in all the time since he'd been brought back to Bobby's he hadn't really moved very far from the sofa on which he now sat with Rayann.

Although Dean insisted he rest and recover from his injuries, his brother's worry wasn't the only thing stopping Sam from his regaining independence. He was scared. He had no idea how to navigate the once familiar terrain of the grizzled hunter's home and when he had tried to do something on his own, he'd gotten hurt.

"Dean's been helping me a lot," Sam answered quietly.

"How?" Rayann asked; her tone curious.

Sam closed his eyes for a moment, not wanting to see the unending whiteness and took a deep breath once darkness bloomed beneath his closed lids.

He told the therapist how Dean stayed by his side, night and day, ready in case he needed anything.

During the first couple of days after he had been rescued, Sam had clung to his brother, afraid of losing Dean again after thinking he'd never see his brother or his father ever again but as the days passed it started to grow slightly embarrassing. Sam was eighteen. He should be able to take care of himself. He shouldn't have to have his brother cut up his food or pick out his clothes or squeeze toothpaste onto his toothbrush for him just because he couldn't see.

Although Sam appreciated how Dean was always there to remind him he was safe after he'd had a nightmare, he wished his brother would sleep in a real bed. Dean should have his own life, not spend it looking after his little brother all the time.

Sam wished that he could just get up, walk into the kitchen and get himself a glass of water or a snack without having to ask… and he probably could but… he was scared. He hated being treated like a little kid who couldn't do anything for himself but he was reluctant to try. He knew he was being stupid but he couldn't help it.

He was afraid of getting hurt and he was afraid of disappointing his father more than he already had.

Rayann's hand touched Sam's and the younger man jumped. Rayann didn't apologize though.

"Bobby told me that before your accident you planned on going to college," she said, "He told me you received a full ride to Stanford."

Sam nodded, "Yeah, I did… before… everything happened."

"Sam, you seem like a very confident, independent young man," she said and Sam chuckled humorlessly.

"It's true," Rayann said, seeming to know exactly what he was thinking, "Believe me when I say that you can become that young man again. I know it sounds cheesy but, it's not going to be like this forever. Sure, it'll take hard work and perseverance but I know you can do it."

Sam bit his lip and blinked his eyes when he felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, "I'm scared."

The therapist squeezed his hand, "That's okay. There's nothing wrong with being scared, it's completely natural to feel that way, but you can't let that get in the way of moving on with your life, you understand? Fear has a way of trapping you and once you let it do that, it's very difficult to break free."

Sam nodded.

"Listen," Rayann continued, "I've been doing this for a while and I've seen almost every situation. You are very lucky, you are."

Sam scoffed. He didn't really feel lucky.

"You have a family who cares about you and who are willing to support you," Rayann said, "Many people don't have that."

Sam sucked in a deep breath. He couldn't imagine going through this alone. Despite the fact that Dean had been hovering over him the past week, Sam wouldn't trade that for anything. At least he knew that his brother cared about him enough to help him. Bobby had opened up his house to them and given the Winchesters an open invitation so that they wouldn't feel as if they were overstaying their welcome. Even John, who hadn't taken the news of Sam's new handicap very well, had hugged his youngest tightly when he'd woken up after his rescue.

"I didn't think about that," Sam confessed, feeling ashamed.

Rayann patted his hand, "You have an amazing support system here. Use it."

"I will."

"Good," the therapist said, "I'm going to talk to your father and brother now. I'll have Bobby come in and sit with you."

Sam nodded. He felt better about Rayann, less nervous. He heard the old couch's springs protest when the therapist stood up and he listened to her footfalls as she moved across the living room towards the front door.

SPN

Dean glanced up when the door opened and Rayann stepped out onto the porch, making room for Bobby to go past her and into the house.

Once the door was closed and only the two Winchesters remained, the therapist turned her button-like eyes to them.

The tiny young woman was smiling so Dean didn't even bother asking her what she had been talking to his brother about.

"So?" John spoke up, "Can you help Sam?"

Rayann chuckled, "Of course I can help Sam. That's no problem. But I do have to ask both of you to do something that will help him in the long-run."

Dean leaned forward eagerly, but was shocked at what Rayann said next.

"I need you to back off," she said in a stern, though not cruel tone, "Especially you, Dean."

Spluttering with indignation, the older sibling, stared at the therapist.

"What do you mean?" he asked, ignoring the slight smirk on his father's face.

"I need you to let Sam do things on his own," Rayann explained, "Even if he has trouble or messes up or has to go back and perform the same task a dozen times over I need you to let him make those mistakes."

"Why?" John asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

Rayann turned to look at the father, "From what Sam and Bobby both told me, he used to be very independent before his accident."

John muttered something that to Dean sounded like 'smartass' but he pretended not to hear it. He'd rather not have Rayann know about their dysfunctional family just yet.

"Stepping back and allowing Sam to do things on his own, without assistance will help far more than doing everything for him," Rayann continued.

"I know that right now you want to protect Sam and do the tough stuff for him but it will only harm him if you don't give him a chance to get his hands dirty," the therapist said.

"A lot of the times people think that they are helping their family member but what they are really doing is setting them up for failure. This might not be what you want to hear but it is what you need to hear."

Dean tried to keep calm. He hated it whenever anyone- anyone- told him how to take care of his brother and now that this Rayann Muir, a woman who barely knew them was saying that he shouldn't help Sam, well, that was unacceptable.

But the therapist did have a point. Sam was independent by nature and Dean was sure that sooner or later he'd let it be known that he wouldn't tolerate being babied.

Dean didn't want Sam to be scared of going out and doing things just because he was blind. There were plenty of blind people who were completely independent and mobile and Dean knew that was what Sam truly wanted.

Dean nodded, "I can try. It's just hard, you know."

Rayann smiled softly at him, "This is new for all of you, not just Sam and you, as a family, are going to have to make some changes as to how you do things but that's why I'm here."

John pushed himself off the repaired railing, "Okay, where do we start?"

SPN

Sam stood in front of the couch, one hand gripping the handle of a cane with trepidation and excitement.

Rayann had one hand on his free arm, ready to guide him and show him how to use the cane.

"Are you ready, Sam?" the therapist asked and the young man nodded, "Yeah."

Sam's hold on the cane tightened as Rayann walked forward, bringing him alone at her side.

"Slow," she muttered, "You don't need to rush."

Sam listened to the dull thud the end of the cane made as it hit the hardwood floor. With the cane, Sam would be able to tell if he was coming upon a change in the texture of the ground- from concrete to grass perhaps- and detect obstacles in his path.

The cane would give Sam a great amount of mobility; allow him to walk around the Salvage Yard by himself, if he wished, with practice.

He couldn't help but smile at the thought that he didn't have to be afraid of running into or tripping over the furniture. He wouldn't have to wait for Dean to be his eyes anymore or walk the few feet from the living room to the kitchen with his arms stretched out if his brother wasn't nearby.

"You're doing awesome, Sam," Rayann praised, "Do you think I can let you go now?"

Sam nodded eagerly. The therapist released her hold on Sam and he heard her step back.

"Just keep walking forward, Sam," Rayann called and Sam picked up his pace, excited.

"Slow down, Sammy," Dean called from Sam's right and the younger brother stopped.

He turned his head in the direction of his older sibling's voice and narrowed his eyes. Was he about to hit something? He reached out with the cane, tapping at the invisible area in front of him.

"Keep going Sam," Rayann encouraged, "You're fine."

Sam hesitated though. Now he wasn't so sure. He suddenly had the feeling that he was standing on the edge of a yawning chasm and if he took a step forward he was going to plummet to his death. He didn't move.

"Go on, son," Bobby spoke up, his gruff voice tinged with concern.

Sam hunched his shoulders protectively and closed his eyes. He startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Sammy," Dean's warm breath tickled his ear, "We can stop if you want. You can take a break."

Sam took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He shrugged Dean's hand from his shoulder and stood up straighter.

"I'm alright," he muttered determinedly.

He had to do this. He would do this. Nothing was going to happen to him; he was in Bobby's house for God's sake! Sam stepped forward and let out the breath he'd been holding. He walked until he heard the end of the cane hit the linoleum of the kitchen floor. He continued onward, listening intently to the distinct tap-tap-tap of the cane, aware of his brother's eyes on his back as he walked.

Thunk! Sam paused. He must have just hit the cupboard. Turning around so that he faced what he thought was the kitchen doorway, Sam smiled triumphantly.

He smiled even wider when he heard clapping from inside the living room.

"That was great, Sam!" Rayann's voice praised, her footsteps coming closer as she walked forward.

"You're going to be a pro at this in no time, Sammy," Dean exclaimed from somewhere behind Rayann.

"Are still up for more, Sam?" the therapist asked and the young man nodded eagerly.

SPN

Dean couldn't be happier for his brother. He wasn't at all surprised at how fast Sam was learning to navigate with the cane. Sam had always had an insatiable thirst for knowledge and being taught how to live blind was nothing more than an interesting exercise for him.

Rayann showed Sam how to perform daily personal care that could not wait until she returned for her next visit.

Dean learned alongside Sam, watching every move Rayann made and memorizing everything she said in case he ever needed to recall it in the future.

Bobby and John gave the three younger people space. Bobby would always ask the brothers later about what Rayann had told them so he could get his house ready if he needed to for any Winchester visits in the future. John was so out of his element with this that he just ducked out and let Dean take care of things, like always. He would figure out a different way to support Sam when the time came.

Rayann showed the brothers how a rubber band around a shampoo bottle could distinguish it from others in the shower, how safety pins clipped the tags inside clothing could be used to indicate the colours and prevent dressing from becoming a guessing game. She suggested three different methods Sam could use to brush his teeth. Shaving was something Dean was leery about. Although Rayann insisted that with practice it would become second nature to Sam, he didn't like the thought of his brother wielding a razor he couldn't see on his face and neck.

Dean had already taken to telling Sam exactly where the food on his plate was during meals- peas at 3 o'clock, chicken at 6 o'clock and mashed potatoes at 9 o'clock- but Rayann explained that it would be more beneficial (and less embarrassing) for Sam to learn to cut his own food. The therapist assured the older brother that just like everything else, it would become easier with practice and Sam just had to go slow and not rush. Dean again wasn't too keen on the idea of his blind brother using a sharp implement but he knew Sam need it and agreed, reluctantly to the terms.

"But if you cut off a finger," Dean warned, half-jokingly, "I'm going to put all your food in the blender and you'll have to eat out of a straw."

Rayann left two hours later after a schedule had been decided and Dean found himself sitting on one of the beds in the guest bedroom he and Sam usually shared, helping Sam organize his clothing.

Bobby had found an old mason jar full of safety pins- Karen used them when she sewed- and brought them up to the boys.

The majority of Sam's pants were blue jeans so they didn't need to be categorized; he could tell that they were denim simply by the texture but the t-shirts and flannel shirts needed attention.

"This one's plaid, green and black and grey," Dean told his brother and fished a large safety pin out of the jar.

Sam nodded, "I know I have a grey t-shirt somewhere…"

"Hi boys," John appeared in the doorway, startling even Dean. John could be as silent as a shadow when he wanted to be.

"Dad," Dean muttered and attached the safety pin to the tag inside of the plaid button-up and grabbed the grey t-shirt Sam wanted from his open duffel bag.

He found another large pin in the jar and effectively marked the shirt.

Sam had somehow figured out a confusing system of large safety pins vs. small safety pins and different numbers of pins on clothes for certain colours. Just thinking about it made Dean's head hurt but if Sam understood it than who was he to argue.

John cleared his throat, not liking that he was being ignored. Sam stopped what he was doing, a zip-up sweater in his hands and turned his milky eyes towards the sound.

"Is there something that you wanted?" Dean asked, bristling. Couldn't John see they were busy?

"I think a moth will just about do it," John said vaguely. Dean narrowed his eyes, "Do what?"

"With the therapist," John clarified; he looked into his youngest's sightless eyes.

"You can't make that call!" Dean exclaimed.

"Why not? You're learning quickly, just look at all you did today!" John said and Sam bit his lip.

"So what happens after a month, Dad?" Sam asked. Dean turned to him, "Nothing, Sammy."

"We'll hit the road," John spoke over his eldest, "Continue where we left off."

Dean frowned, "And Sam? What's he going to do? Hang out in the motel room while we go to interview people and hunt down the monsters?"

John shrugged, "You wanna stay here instead?"

Sam didn't move for a long moment, "Can Dean stay too?"

The eldest Winchester shook his head, "I need your brother on hunts. Besides, this Rayann Muir says you need to be more independent. I think some time away from each other would be a good thing."

Dean stood up suddenly, unable to stay seated.

"If that's the way you're calling the shots," Dean growled, "Than I'm staying with Sam. I said it before and I'll say it again: I am not going without Sammy."

John's expression darkened, "I'm trying to help you! Both of you! I'm trying to do what's best for you, Sam! Don't you understand that?"

"How dare you force him to choose like this!" Dean exclaimed, "That's not fair to him!"

John stood up and tried to tower over his eldest.

"I'm not forcing him to do shit, Dean!" John snarled, "He can stay here or he can come with us!"

Dean, recalling what happened during the last argument with his father, abruptly sat back down on the bed and took the sweater from his brother's lax fingers.

"What pin do you want for this one, Sam?"

John, realizing that the fight was over and that he was going to be ignored, tore from the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Dean leaned forward towards his brother, "C'mon Sammy, talk to me."

Sam dropped his hands and Dean saw tears trail down his brother's face.

Sliding across the bed, Dean settled next to Sam and wrapped his arms tightly around him.

Dean didn't speak for a while. He just let his brother bury his face against his shoulder and cry silently.

"Sam," he mumbled eventually, once his brother's crying had stopped, "I think you should stay here. Continue learning with Rayann. Don't jeopardize your future because Dad's being an asshole, okay? Remember the kid who was going to go to Stanford no matter what Dad said? Be that kid again. For me… for you."

Sam shook his head. He didn't want Dean to leave him. Although he wanted to regain his independence he didn't want to be independent of his big brother. Sam wasn't so sure that the kid who'd once been so willing to turn his back on his family for the chance at a 'normal' life still existed. Yes he'd made a few accomplishments today but he was still a long way from becoming independent. He needed Dean with him. He didn't know what he would do without his brother. Sure he would have Bobby but it just wasn't the same.

"Sam? You listening to me?" Dean asked, unaware of the thoughts flooding his brother's mind.

"Yeah," Sam muttered and pulled back from the hug.

"Dean?" the older brother looked up expectantly.

"I'm kind of tired right now," Sam whispered, "Can we finish this later?"

"Uh, sure," Dean blinked, surprised, "Of course."

Numbly, Dean moved the clothes off the bed and watched as Sam fumbled with the blanket until he'd found the edge and pulled it down.

"You want me to read you a bedtime story?" Dean asked, not really in the mood to joke but unable to help himself.

Sam rolled onto his side, facing away from him and didn't answer.

"Okay," Dean muttered sadly, "I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

Closing the door softly behind himself, Dean walked into the main floor and sat down on the couch, staring at the black TV screen. He ran a hand over his face and sighed.

God help him but he knew that his father was right. Sam needed to stay in a stable environment and continue learning how to take care of himself. Dean knew that Sam would be miserable if he went on the cross-country ride with them. But Sam was also stubborn and he would not change his mind once it was made up.

Give him a month, like Dad said; Dean thought. Maybe Sam will get over this. Dean himself was reluctant to let his brother out of his sight, still terrified that one morning he'll wake up and find Sam missing. It's just the close call, Dean thought. We're still calming down.

Dean only wanted what was best for his brother, always had and always would, and if that meant leaving Sam here with Bobby then so be it. It wasn't like Bobby was some kind of ogre. The man was a good, good friend and oftentimes a better father to them than John was.

Dean knew that his brother would be upset with him for a while but Sam had never been one to hold grudges for long and would forgive him if Dean left with their father.

Let's just see where a month takes us, Dean decided, maybe that Stanford-bound Sam is still in there somewhere, clambering for a taste of civilian life.

Dean closed his eyes and let out a breath that was more of a sigh. He was asleep by the time Bobby poked his head into the living room, unaware of the grizzled hunter draping a blanket over his unconscious frame before casting a long look out into the driveway where the Impala had up until recently rested.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Was John missing something? He didn't get it. Really, he didn't.

He knew that Sam would be miserable if he accompanied them on hunts so why did the eighteen-year old not jump at the chance to stay at Bobby's?

Why was Sam now so willing to live the life he'd been trying to leave not so long ago?

Sam hadn't been so concerned about being without Dean when he was walking out the door intent on going to college.

John was even giving his sons a month until everything settled down for Christ's sake! It wasn't like he was packing Dean into the Impala and hightailing it out of Sioux Falls as if they had Hellhounds after them.

The confused and frustrated father shook his head as he sat at the kitchen table, beer in hand.

He couldn't help but smile though at the sight of his sons sitting side-by-side on the couch in the living room. Somehow Dean had found a television channel with 'described video' so now Sam could enjoy the shows without having his brother tell him what was happening.

John was amazed at the change in his youngest son's mood. Ever since Rayann Muir had visited, Sam seemed so much happier. At first John wasn't sure how Sam would take to walking around with a cane, he'd thought Sam would reject the idea of needing help, but he was wrong.

Sam moved freely around Bobby's house, even navigating the staircase- something he'd been unwilling to do previously- and the yard under Dean's watchful gaze.

Dean stood up from the couch and entered the kitchen, making it a point to ignore John and opened the refrigerator door, taking out two cans of soda.

"Dean," John called to his eldest before he could leave the room. His beer sat as of yet untouched in front of him on the kitchen table.

"What?" the young man asked, and nearly glared at his father.

"Sam's… uh… he's doing really well, don't you think?" John asked, "It's kind of hard to believe he-"

The eldest Winchester was interrupted in his attempt at sentiment by his son, "If you can't believe it than you don't know Sam as well as you think you do."

Before John could reply, Dean turned away and went back into the living room. John narrowed his eyes at his oldest son.

He was trying, Goddamnit! He was trying to keep things civil! He was trying to take Bobby's advice and think about Sam's position more than his own!

If Dean wasn't twenty-two, John would have stormed into the den and put the boy over his knee. His eldest son had never spoken to him like this before! Ever since Sam's kidnapping, Dean had become more and more disrespectful to him; it was unacceptable.

Forgetting all about his beer, John stood up and left by the back door, stomping down the cement steps and into the yard. Leaves from the nearby trees lay scattered across the grass, red and yellow and orange as a chilly breeze rustled them along the ground.

John's boots crunched over the leaves as he made his way around to the front of the house where he had parked the Impala. Bobby's tow truck was gone- he had left a couple of hours ago to take care of a car that had been driven into a telephone pole in the next town- and wouldn't be home anytime soon.

Sighing, the oldest Winchester sat down in the driver's seat of the Impala and started the engine. He waited until the vehicle had warmed up enough and then quickly pulled out of the driveway.

SPN

Sam tried not to think about his father's ultimatum. It wouldn't help anything to worry about it. Besides, Sam wasn't going to give in that easily. He wasn't going to do what his father said just because John thought 'it was for the best'.

Although Sam loved Bobby like a father and felt that the salvage yard was a second home, Sam knew that when the month was up, he would be leaving right alongside his father and brother.

Sam knew that John would have preferred him to stay with Bobby but if Dean wasn't staying than neither was he.

Dean, bless him, just wanted Sam to be happy Sam knew that his brother would gladly go off hunting with their Dad if that was what he thought Sam wanted.

Sam jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder; he'd been so deep in thought that he hadn't noticed Dean approaching.

"Thinking about Calculus?" his brother asked and Sam blinked, "What?"

"You have this really serious look on your face," Dean explained, "I thought you might be trying to do some really difficult math equation or something."

Sam gave a slight smile, "Not Calculus."

He reached his hand out, searching for his cane he had leaned against the edge of the couch earlier when he'd sat down.

"A little more to your right," Dean commented, his tone belying the fact that he really just wanted to grab the cane and hand it to his brother instead of watching Sam grope for it.

Sam's fingers touched the handle of the cane and curled around it.

"When is Rayann's next visit?" he asked, standing and turning in the direction of his brother's voice.

"Uh, tomorrow," Dean answered. Rayann was scheduled to visit the Singer household every Monday, Wednesday, Friday and every other Sunday. Her first visit had landed on a Friday; forgoing the coming Sunday so Sam had had the entire weekend to learn to navigate with the cane and use the tricks Rayann had suggested for help with eating and personal hygiene.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked and Sam couldn't help but smile at the hint of worry in his voice; he wasn't going to run off, especially not like this.

"I want to go outside," he answered. Sam liked spending as much time as possible in Bobby's yard as possible; Dean had forbidden him from leaving the area until Rayann said it was okay. Though he couldn't see them, the walls of Bobby's house sometimes started to feel as though they were closing in around Sam and with the pervading whiteness obscuring his vision; it didn't take a whole lot for him to recall the whitewashed room that had been his prison as Dr. Bates' captive.

"Okay," Dean said, "Let me get the door for you."

Sam heard his brother's footsteps as he made his way to the front door- a short distance from the living room or exactly twenty steps as Sam counted them- but the screen didn't make its familiar high-pitched squeal of unoiled hinges.

"Dean?" Sam asked, nervous at the silence.

"It's kind of chilly out," his brother answered, "You should put on a jacket if you're going to be outside for a while."

Sam relaxed, "Sure."

Once he'd counted the twenty steps to the front entryway, Sam leaned his cane against the wall and quickly found the door to the hall closet.

The brothers had attached a safety pin to the sleeve of Sam's jacket so that he would be able to find it as it hung amongst the other garments in the closet.

Sam's brow furrowed in concentration as he felt for the safety pin on the sleeve of every coat or jacket he touched. Dean had suggested that they just leave his jacket out so that it would be easier to find and they wouldn't have to wait for Sam to find it but the young man had refused having his coat in a special location. Dean unthinkingly had asked his brother why he wanted to make everything so hard for himself; the comment starting the first fight he and Sam had had since his younger brother had been rescued.

"I need to do this Dean!" Sam had nearly shouted, "It might seem stupid to you but it means the world to me!"

"I never said it was stupid, Sam!" Dean had tried to defend himself, "I just don't see why you have to make things more difficult than they already are!"

"I have to know how to do this, Dean! Now! It's not going to help me if I am suddenly thrown into a situation and have no idea how to maneuver!" Sam had shouted angrily, his blind eyes narrowing in his brother's direction.

"I'm just trying to help you, Sam!" Dean had snarled, "I don't know why you won't let me."

"Because Rayann said I need to do this alone," Sam had tried to calm down, not wanting to fight with his brother, "Because, like it or not, you're not always going to be around to hold my hand."

Dean had been stunned by Sam's words. Of course he knew they were true but unconsciously knowing it and hearing them were different. After that, Dean hadn't said anything more about his brother's 'tests' as he decided to think of them. He knew Sam was right, Sam needed to learn to do things on his own again and helping him would only end up hurting his brother in the long run, just as Rayann had said.

Sam smiled triumphantly as his fingers brushed the cool piece of metal on the sleeve of his jacket and he pulled the garment off its hanger.

"Great, that only took a half-hour," Dean joked and Sam rolled his sightless eyes, "No it didn't."

"I did," Dean corrected, "I thought I was going to grow old just watching you."

Sam shook his head and shoved his hands through the sleeves of the jacket and grabbed his cane again.

The screen door creaked as Dean slipped out and held it open for Sam. A brisk breeze made Sam shiver unexpectedly.

"Told you it was cold," Dean commented from Sam's right, a smirk in his voice, "You want a hat?"

"I'll be okay," Sam said and stepped out onto the porch. The cane thudded dully on the wooden boards that made up the porch as Sam walked farther from the front door.

He stopped when the end of the cane hit nothing but empty air and took a deep breath.

"You wanna take a walk?" Dean asked and Sam shrugged.

"The stairs are to your left," Dean told him, "About four steps."

Sam moved in that direction, relieved when the end of the cane came into contact with the wooden stairs. Sam took the stairs slowly and frowned when he didn't hear his brother's footsteps behind him.

"You coming?" he asked without looking back.

"Nah," Dean said casually, "Think I'll stay here."

Sam's heart skipped a beat. Dean was letting him go alone. Dean wasn't coming with him. What if something happened? What if he tripped over a piece of scrap metal or a tire or walked into one of Bobby's old junk cars?

Then he would.

That was just the risk he had to take. Sure he could get hurt but that was all about going out there- into the salvage yard- and experiencing life.

Sam suddenly thought about kids learning to ride their bikes without training wheels. Yes they could fall and get hurt but that was all a part of the learning process. All they had to do was pick themselves back up and get on the bike again.

Besides, Dean would never let him go by himself if he thought that Sam would get seriously injured.

"Okay," Sam said, "Don't wait up for me."

Sam didn't really like the gravel that made up most of the salvage yard- it was too loose and made it difficult to pinpoint his location- so he walked slower than usual, even with the cane.

Sam kept close to the house for as long as he could- his left hand touching the side of the building- before breaking off and venturing into the yard.

SPN

Dean watched Sam move slowly around the side of the house. He knew that Sam was as safe as it was possible to be in Bobby's salvage yard; they had walked through it a dozen times since Sam had received the cane and his brother would be careful where he walked. Unlike Dean, Sam was less reckless, less likely to take risks.

Besides, Sam needed to do these things on his own. Sighing, Dean went back into the house. Sam would be able to find his way and once he had, he would find that his big brother had made them both hot chocolate and put some store-bought oatmeal cookies on a plate.

SPN

William Findlay, former director of the Dunhill Psychiatric Hospital, did not give up easily. Even in the custody of the FBI, Findlay was not alone. He had friends in low places, friends who would help him.

He had learned all about the event that had led to his arrest, the strange late-night rescue of one of the subjects in the North Hall.

Gerald Elridge described the discovery of the two young men in the hallway where the prisoners were kept and the- losing- fight with one of them. Unfortunately he didn't know who they had been after, when he'd woken up to find a pair of Federal agents staring down at him he hadn't had time to ask what had happened.

Findlay knew, however, exactly who those young men had come for. According to one of his friends- masquerading as a doctor to gain entry into Marshalltown General and close to the patients' documents- claimed that all but one of the subjects was accounted for. The young man with the green eyes- or M-BSPN666 as Bates had referred to him- had been the intended target.

Although William Findlay may not have been a direct participant in the Black Market organ trade, he had connection, and as always, his greed won out. If Findlay could find the young man, he would be able to auction him off to the highest bidder.

William Findlay smiled. If his lawyer could get him released on a technicality- and he was certain he could- then he would become a very rich man.

Now all he had to do was wait.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Rayann couldn't help but be surprised at Sam's progress. He could now navigate the entire house using the cane, as though there had been months in between her visits instead of only days.

She could clearly see the confidence the achievement had given the young man. He sat up a little straighter against the couch, he smiled and if it weren't for the milky tint to his eyes, she wouldn't have known he was blind.

"I think you're going to really like what I have for you today, Sam," Rayann said and began rummaging through the gym bag she had brought.

Sam leaned forward eagerly and Dean chuckled to himself, happy to see his brother so enthusiastic.

"Bobby told me you're an avid reader so I thought we could start having you learn Braille," Rayann explained as she pulled out a sheet of thick, cream-coloured paper with a series of raised dots on it.

"This has all of the letters of the alphabet on it, and numbers," she said, handing the paper to Sam.

Sam had seen Braille before- on the buttons in elevators, beside the numbers to motel rooms they stayed at- and had always been fascinated by the idea that something so simple as raised dots could be read just like any printed words.

"I wrote down the letters and numbers underneath the Braille so Dean or Bobby or your Dad will be able to tell you what they are," Rayann told the three gathered hunters. Sam held back a cringe. John wasn't going to touch this stuff with a ten-foot pole.

"I also have these for you," Rayann continued; Dean taking the paper from his brother and running his fingers over the dots experimentally.

"I know these are children's books but they will help you when you're learning to read," the therapist pulled out a small stack of books that, to Dean, looked just like a dozen of those creamy-white papers with Braille bound together.

Dean thought that kid's books were meant to be eye-catching and colourful but then he guessed it didn't matter if the books had pictures or not if the people reading them couldn't see them.

"You going to read me bedtime stories, Sammy?" Dean asked jokingly and his brother scowled good-naturedly.

"The last thing I have is for you, Bobby."

The grizzled looked surprised but went along with it. Rayann pulled a label-maker from her bag.

"This prints off Braille labels," she explained, "What I want you to do, is type in a word, let's say 'table', print it off and stick the label to the object. This will help Sam associate objects with their names in Braille."

Sam heard the gentle clacking of keys as Rayann typed in 'table' and the muted whirr as a sticker was printed.

"Don't worry, they come off real easy," the therapist said quietly with more than a little amusement in her voice.

Sam could almost imagine what Bobby must be thinking, having everything in his house covered in Braille stickers.

"Thanks Rayann," Sam said, "This is great."

Sam meant it; if he could read, then he could do research and if he could do that, then there was no way his father could tell him he had to stay at Bobby's when the month ended.

"I know this visit was kind of short," Rayann said, "But a lot of these things you have to do on your own. But Bobby has my number in case you need to call me for anything, alright?"

Sam nodded.

"I want you to be able to read at least one of those books by the time I come again," Rayann told Sam; she knew it was a tall order but she was certain that the young man would be able to read one, if not all of the books by her next visit. Sam was already making leaps and bounds and she was sure he would continue.

"Okay," Sam said determinedly, up to the challenge.

Rayann chuckled and said her goodbyes. Sam barely noticed as she left. He had the paper with the Braille alphabet and numbers sitting on the coffee table in front of him, concentration clear on his features as his fingers touched the raised dots and tried to commit their meaning to memory.

Dean had taken the label maker from where Bobby had left it on the seat of the wing-back chair he'd been occupying and was printing out sticker after sticker enthusiastically.

SPN

John Winchester stared blankly at the label on his beer bottle. He was getting anxious to leave Sioux Falls.

Never one to stay in one place for too long if he could help it, John couldn't wait for the month to be up so he and Dean could continue the hunt.

If Sam hadn't left to go off and follow some ridiculous- and selfish- dream of getting a college education, they wouldn't be in this mess. If Sam and only listened to John, he'd be alright now.

John felt bad about what had happened to his youngest boy but he also blamed Sam for it. Since the young man was now blind, the rest of his family had to pay for his mistake.

John shook his head and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. He just didn't understand why Sam even wanted to go to college in the first place. John had gone into the military directly after he'd graduated from high school and he got on just fine. Dean hadn't even graduated and he was no worse for it.

Why would Sam want to leave the hunting life anyway? Why would he want to stop saving people? Why wouldn't he be driven to get a piece of revenge on the monster that had killed his mother?

John gulped down the last of his beer and leaned back in the booth he was sitting in.

He hoped that when this month was over, Dean would be more willing to come with him. Although John could and would hunt by himself, he wanted his eldest son with him. Sam could take care of himself. Bobby's house was protected and the grizzled hunter would look after Sam if need be.

Pulling his wallet out, John set some bills on the table and stood. He glanced at his watch and realized he'd missed Rayann Muir's visit.

Oh well, Dean would fill him in when he returned.

The eldest Winchester wound his way through the bar and outside into the bright sunlight. Squinting his eyes against the glare, John walked across the gravel parking lot to where the Impala was waiting.

SPN

Sam angrily shoved the book away from himself and heard it hit the floor with a flutter of pages.

"I can't do it!" He growled, frustrated, and moved to stand only to be stopped by a hand on his arm.

"Let me go, Dean!" he demanded, struggling to pull his arm from his brother's grasp.

"Sit down," the young man ordered sternly.

"No! This… I can't do it… I'm not getting it…" Sam protested and raised his hand to try and pry his brother's unyielding hand away.

In a softer, gentler tone, Dean spoke again, "You will get it, Sammy. You just have to be patient, okay?"

Sam felt his brother give his arm a squeeze and he sighed, "M'sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Dean told him, "Just calm down and try again. I'll even get that alphabet page again if you need it."

Sam sat and Dean let him go. He wiped at his eyes and blinked, embarrassed now.

He listened to Dean's chair slide across the linoleum floor as his brother reached down to pick up the book.

"How're you feeling, Sammy? Do you want to take a break for a little while?" Dean asked seriously.

Sam shrugged. He wasn't going to get this before Rayann returned. He was going to let her down.

He curled his hands into fists and rested them against his legs. He knew that he couldn't be expected to know everything in such a short time but Sam could barely manage to read one sentence before he tripped up. Oh, he'd be fine for the first two or three words and then it seemed as though the Braille dots had a mind of their own and jumbled up on purpose. This wasn't fair!

"Sam, if you think Rayann's going to be mad at you if you can't read some dumb kid's book for her, than you're not as smart as you think you are," Dean's voice said.

"But Dean-" Sam tried to argue, knowing he sounded childish but was unable to help himself.

"No buts," his brother replied, "Trust me, I think it takes a lot to get someone like Rayann really pissed. Besides, if she does, you can just melt her heart with those 'puppy eyes' of yours."

Sam smiled slightly.

"This is for you, Sam," Dean continued, more serious, "Not Rayann. If you need to take time learning Braille, take all the time you need. No one's going to be upset with you about that."

Sam nodded. Dean was right. The world wasn't going to end if he couldn't read Maurice Sendak's 'Where the Wild Things Are' in Braille on Rayann's next visit. They would just have to set the goal for another day.

"Let me try it again, Dean," Sam said, reaching out for the book, "Once more."

W

Sam lay on his back in bed, listening to his brother's breathing. It was late at night and he knew he should be asleep but he couldn't. He was afraid of having another nightmare where his father replaced Dr. Bates. He was afraid to see John staring down at him, a bloody scalpel in his hand.

Sitting up, the blankets pooled around his waist, Sam rubbed his eyes, trying not to think too much about his own Dad carving him up so mercilessly.

John hadn't been at all interested in the Braille books Rayann had brought with her. Just as Sam had known he would. The best John could do was exclaim how he was proud of Sam for his continued achievements, that he knew his youngest would learn to read in no time and then disappear into the kitchen to get himself a beer.

Sam decided he didn't want to sit up in bed so he grabbed his cane and left the room, walking as quietly as he could down the hallway to the stairs. With one hand on the railing and the other gripping his cane, Sam descended the staircase.

He listened intently to the taptaptap of the tip of the cane on Bobby's hardwood floor as he entered the den and quickly found the couch, twenty steps from the bottom stair.

Sitting down, Sam ran a hand over his short hair. It was growing but not fast enough for his liking, it was still shorter than Dean's. Sam laid his head back and closed his eyes, just listening to the sounds of the house.

He startled when he heard footsteps approaching him. Sam grabbed his cane and moved to stand before his father spoke.

"Mind if I sit with you?"

Sam sank back down onto the couch and shrugged, "Sure."

He felt the cushion beside him dip down as his father's late settled onto it.

"Couldn't sleep either?" John asked quietly.

Sam shook his head, fiddling with his cane, folding it up and laying it on his lap.

Father and son lapsed into silence for a long moment before John spoke up again.

"How are you feeling… about all of this?"

Sam's eyebrows furrowed and he turned his head in his father's direction, "About what… being blind?"

John shifted uncomfortably on the couch, "Sure… and about Rayann."

"I need to learn how to become independent again," Sam muttered, "I can't rely on Dean all the time."

The young man heard his father give a sharp intake of breath and knew that, whatever John's issues were, he'd hit a nerve.

"How's your reading coming along? I heard you were having some trouble this afternoon," his Dad commented, sounding as though he were struggling to find things to talk about.

"Fine," Sam answer simply.

John cleared his throat, "Do you… ah, can I help?"

Sam's eyes widened.

"You really want to help me with my Braille?"

"Sure," his Dad replied, "Neither of us are sleeping so why not?"

Sam stood up, excitedly, and unfolded his cane. His father really wanted to get involved with this. Sam wasn't stupid though, he had a feeling Dean or Bobby had talked to John after he'd arrived after Rayann left but the young man didn't care. He wanted to show his father that just because he was blind now, didn't mean he couldn't help out on hunts, even if it was only research.

Sam stopped when he felt his father put a hand on his arm, "Why don't I get the stuff? Where is it?"

"On the kitchen table," Sam answered and sat down again. He and Dean had gone over the alphabet again before going upstairs to bed.

The young man listened to the sound of his father's footfalls as he moved from the hardwood of the den to the linoleum that covered the kitchen floor. There was a shuffling of papers and his father's footsteps came closer again.

Sam felt the couch cushions sink when John sat down and reached out a hand.

The older man settled the papers into Sam's lap and leaned back, watching as his son rifled through them quickly.

"I'm not great at the alphabet yet," Sam held up a page with a series of raised dots on it, the corresponding letters written beneath, "Can we do this one first?"

There was a pause and Sam frowned.

"Sorry," John muttered, "Whatever you want."

Sam set the paper down flat on his lap and touched his right hand to it so that his fingers brushed the raised dots.

"Is this an 'A'?"

Brow furrowed in concentration, Sam worked on 'reading' the Braille dots for a few minutes before John cleared his throat.

"Sam," he began, "I wanted to talk to you about something."

The younger man felt the paper being pulled out from underneath his fingers and his wrist went limp, his hand resting against his knee.

"What?" he asked nervously.

"Why don't you want to stay here? After the month, I mean?"

Sam's heart began to speed up. He should have known his Dad wasn't really interested in helping him out with the Braille. It had all been a ruse to get his attention.

He folded his arms around his middle and turned his head away from John deliberately.

"You never liked hunting, I know," John began, trying to be as diplomatic as possible for once.

"But-" Sam began but his father interrupted, "No, let me finish."

"You can't help us out on hunts," John told him, "You can't see. You'd just stay in the motel room, waiting for us. Why would you want to do that?"

"Dad, I can-" Sam began again but once more, John stopped him.

"You'd be unhappy, you know you would be," he continued, "I'm just trying to do what's best for you. If you stay here, with Bobby, you'll be able to become more and more independent and Rayann Muir can still see you."

Sam ground his teeth, frustrated with his father.

"You don't know what I can and can't do!"

John didn't say anything for a long moment. Sam was amazed that he had managed to render his father mute, if only for a little while.

"I don't want to stay here, I want to be with Dean, I want-" Sam's head snapped back with the force of the blow.

Shock drew all colour from his face and his eyes widened. His father had just hit him!

Fumbling for his cane, Sam stood, spilling his papers onto the floor. The cane clattered the hardwood uselessly but Sam ignored it. He began backing away from the couch, narrowly missing the coffee table.

"Sam-" His father's voice called but the young man shook his head, "Don't talk to me! Don't come near me! Don't touch me!"

One hand going to his still-stinging cheek, tears welled up in Sam's milky eyes as he continued to back away.

"Son," John tried again and Sam heard the couch springs squeak as his father stood up.

"Leave me alone!" Sam cried, hot tears streaming down his face.

Footsteps approached Sam and he backed away as fast as he could.

"Sammy!" Dean's voice called and the young man stopped.

"Dean," he reached out with his free hand and grabbed his brother's arm.

"What the fuck, Dad?" Dean snarled, pulling Sam behind him, shielding him.

"Screw this," John muttered, "I can't deal with this shit right now."

Sam heard his father's footsteps move away and then the front door slammed shut. He felt Dean grip his shoulders tightly, "Sam, what happened?"

"He…he…" Sam stammered, still in shock.

"Shhh," Dean soothed, "It's okay."

Sam was pulled into his brother's arms and he closed his eyes.

"D-Dad… h-hit me… he hit me… D'n," Sam choked, tears continued to run down his face.

Dean's grip on Sam tightened, "Son of a bitch."

"C'mon Sammy," Dean released Sam from the embrace but kept a hand on his shoulder, "Let's sit on the couch."

Sam followed his brother, feeling betrayed and sat down when Dean told him it was alright to do so.

His brother squeezed his shoulder and Sam wiped his face with the back of his hand.

"Why does Dad hate me?"

Instead of the expected response of, "Dad doesn't hate you, Sammy," Dean didn't reply at all.

"I'll make us some warm milk, okay?" he said, completely ignoring the question.

Sam lowered his head. He heard Bobby's familiar footsteps as he moved downstairs and into the kitchen, talking to Dean quietly.

Sam lay down on his side on the couch, arms wrapped around his middle.

Maybe his father was right and he should just stay here. It was clear John didn't want him around anyway. Dean was also an advocate of him remaining in Sioux Falls.

I'm useless, Sam thought sadly, I can't hunt and I can't defend myself. I'd just be in the way if I went with Dad and Dean.

Closing his eyes, Sam was asleep by the time Dean came into the den, holding a mug of warm milk in each hand.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

"I'm gonna kick that idjit's ass when he gets back," Bobby growled under his breath as he walked over to where Dean stood in front of his sleeping brother, the mugs of milk he had been holding now sitting on the coffee table.

"Not if I get to him first," Dean said and narrowed his eyes at the sight of the purple bruise forming on Sam's cheek.

Bobby gave the young men a sympathetic look.

"What's gotten into Dad?" Dean asked quietly, "He was so worried about Sam before and now that he's safe… he doesn't want anything to do with him."

The older brother sighed, "Is it because Sam's blind? Did Dad think that Sam would want to hunt again after we rescued him? That he'd have seen the error of his ways and come crawling back, begging to get back in the game?"

Bobby didn't reply and Dean knew that it was exactly what he believed John thought.

Both men jumped when Sam's quiet voice reached their ears; they had thought he was asleep.

"You don't have to stay with me, Dean, if you don't want to. You can go hunting with Dad."

Dean knelt down beside the couch and gripped his brother's shoulder, "Why the hell would I want to be with Dad? He's an asshole."

Sam shrugged and sucked in a watery breath, "You'll be happy if-"

"No Sam," Dean interrupted, "I'm happy now. If I went off with Dad I'd worry about you every day. If I'm here, I won't."

Sam blinked his milky eyes and a tear dripped down his cheek.

"You can't listen to Dad," Dean told him, "He's… he's messed up right now. He isn't thinking straight, okay? Whatever he says to you, don't listen."

Sam bit his lip and his older brother shook him for emphasis, "Right? Don't listen to him, Sam."

"Okay," the younger man whispered, "Dean? Can we go back to bed now?"

Dean took his hands from Sam's shoulders, "Sure thing. C'mon, let me help you."

Sam allowed Dean to take his elbow and guide him away from the couch. Dean grabbed his brother's cane from where it had fallen and turned in the direction of the staircase.

"I'll be right back," Dean told Bobby, "Just let me get Sam to bed."

The grizzled hunter shook his head though, "I'll clean up this mess. You just get yourselves to sleep."

The older brother smiled gratefully as Bobby began to gather up Sam's spilled Braille papers and the untouched coffee mugs.

SPN

Randall Gorman picked up the phone on his side of the Plexiglass and greeted William Findlay, former director of the Dunhill Psychiatric Hospital.

"Orange is a good colour on you," Randall commented casually.

The other man frowned, his blue eyes narrowing.

"What do you want, Findlay?" Randall asked, exasperated, "I have other jobs you know."

"Than why did you come?" the other man asked, one blond eyebrow raised quizzically.

Randall ground his teeth together but said nothing.

"I need you to find someone for me," Findlay told him.

The criminal scoffed, "Hire a private detective."

"I can't," Findlay told him, leaning forward, "He's from Dunhill."

Randall frowned and sat back in the uncomfortable plastic chair, "I heard about that. The fuck happened?"

Findlay's eyes darkened, "One of Bates' kids. Turned out his people did miss him. Next thing I know there's Feds ransacking my office, charging me with accessory to kidnapping and murder."

Randall shook his head. He may not have been a stand-up citizen but even he steered clear of human trafficking; it was just too messy for him.

"So, what? You want me to find some kid? That's all?"

Easy-peasey, Randall thought, that shit was all over the news still.

"I want you to find the kid who's missing," Findlay informed him, "The others all ended up in protective custody and everything… but not him. Family had no contact with the authorities. He's still out there somewhere."

Randall's expression turned skeptical.

"You want me to find this one kid? That's it?"

Findlay nodded, "Just tell me where he is and I'll do the rest. You don't have to get your hands dirty."

After a long pause, Randall nodded, "Sure, why the hell not? He have a name?"

The former director of Dunhill shook his head, "But I can give you a description; he shouldn't be hard to miss."

SPN

Dean pulled the blanket up to Sam's chin- a habit from when his brother had been young- and sighed.

"Sam, don't worry about Dad."

His brother's milk-white eyes were open, staring at the ceiling.

"I mean it," Dean continued, "Go to sleep."

Sam sighed and rolled over onto his side, his eyes finally sliding closed.

Dean remained where he was for a long moment, just watching his brother.

He simply had no idea what was going on with their father. John had been as worried as Dean when they'd found out Sam had been abducted but now… he seemed to think he could just pass Sam off to Bobby and go on his merry way.

Was it really because Sam was blind, and in John's eyes, useless?

Dean's hands clenched into fists and he longed to punch something.

That was not fair. That wasn't fair to Sam. He hadn't asked to end up like this! He didn't want to be like this but he was trying his damnedest to work through it.

Couldn't John not think about hunting for one fucking minute and focus on what his kids needed? No, that seemed like too much to ask of him.

Dean walked to the door and flicked off the light switch, plunging the room into darkness.

Shaking his head, the older bother left the room, heading downstairs.

Bobby was sitting on the couch, Sam's scattered papers stacked neatly before him, apparently deep in thought.

"Didn't I tell you to git to bed too?"

Dean just grimaced and sat down beside the older man. He glanced down at the Braille papers; eyes sweeping over the raised dots that meant nothing to him but were yet so powerful to someone like his brother.

Wiping a hand down his face, Dean peered at Bobby, waiting for the older man to speak.

"Y'all know how stubborn yer Daddy is," the grizzled hunter finally said, "He ain't gonna give up on this after the month's gone."

Dean nodded and sighed. John would expect him to leave Sam and continue hunting with him.

"An' good luck trying to reason with him," Bobby continued.

Dean reached out and shifted through the pages, his fingers brushing the raised dots as he moved the papers.

"I mean what I said before," he told the older man, "I am not going with Dad if he wants to act like a shithead."

Although Dean wished Sam would agree to stay here, with Bobby, he knew that his sibling would be miserable without him. At least if Sam went with them, he'd be with his family.

Sighing, Dean stood and stretched his arms over his head.

"Thanks for helping, Bobby," he said but the other hunter waved his words away.

"I didn't do anything. Now, get some rest, we'll deal with yer Daddy tomorrow."

Dean scowled, "Or whenever he decides to come back."

SPN

Randall Gorman stared at the interior of the Greyhound bus station the kid had been picked up from.

It wasn't much of a lead. Not really a lead at all. The kid could have come from miles away to this place. For anyone else it would have meant a dead end, but Randall wasn't just anyone.

He closed his eyes and cleared his mind, blocked out the sounds of people walking, people talking, the drone of the PA system overhead calling out bus arrivals and departures.

In his mind's eye he could see a map of the terminal, clearly make out the rows of seats, the vending machines, the ticket desks. Although he had had no contact with the kid personally, Randall imagined the boy walking tiredly across the tile floor, perhaps a duffel bag or backpack over one shoulder, thinking only about his destination, whatever that had been.

Randall smiled and opened his eyes, walking straight towards the bank of seats on the right side of the terminal, close to the vending machines. The man sat down in a free seat and leaned back, closing his eyes again.

Yes, this was it. The boy had been sitting in this very chair. Without opening his eyes, Randall raised his hands and rested them on the metal arms of the seat, concentrating.

The kid had been nervous and excited; happy to be going wherever he was headed and sad to leave his loved ones behind. Randall concentrated harder on the residual emotions left by the young man he was seeking. He was able to envision the boy, using his talent as well as Findlay's description. The kid was tall for his age- only eighteen- with long, narrow facial features, shaggy chestnut-coloured hair and almond-shaped green eyes. He was strong, as well. Must be an athlete of some kind, Randall assumed, and continued concentrating, trying to gather as much information as possible from the scraps of emotion leftover.

Where were you going? Randall thought, brow furrowed.

School. Of course. A kid that young, probably fresh out of high school, too, on his way to college.

Randall smiled and opened his eyes. Now that he had a strong hold on the kid's emotions, he'd be able to track him well enough. Turning his gaze to the floor, a thin gold thread seemed to trail away to the front doors of the bus station.

Looks like I'm going to Dunhill, Randall thought and stood, walking briskly to the parking lot towards his rental car, beginning the game of cat and mouse.

SPN

"Hey! Sam! You hearing me?" Dean asked as he turned around and saw his brother's morose expression.

"Huh?" Sam muttered tiredly, stirring the contents of a bowl of cereal, restlessly.

"Do you want to keep reading that monster book after breakfast?" Dean repeated the question for the third time, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice.

"Oh… uh… I don't feel like reading, Dean," Sam muttered, scooped up a spoonful of soggy cereal and tipped the utensil, listening to the plunk as it fell back into the bowl.

"Well, what do you want to do then?" Dean asked and Sam shrugged.

Frowning, the older brother stepped forward, one hand raised to press against his sibling's brow.

"I'm fine!" Sam exclaimed and leaned back.

The younger man sighed and pushed the cereal bowl away, "I'm done."

Dean saw that his brother had barely eaten anything but said nothing. He grabbed the bowl and dumped the mushy mess down the drain.

"When do you think Dad will come back?"

The question had been asked so quietly that Dean almost didn't hear it over the running water.

Dean sighed, "I don't know, Sammy."

Turning off the kitchen tap, Dean turned around, "It doesn't matter anyway when he'll be back, 'cause you're not going to listen to any of his bullshit, right?"

"Right?" Dean pressed when no response was forthcoming.

"Yeah," Sam sighed sadly.

What happened to you, Sammy? Dean thought, if Dad you 'no' you'd tell him to shove it.

The older brother glanced at the bruise still quite clear on his sibling's face and shook his head.

"Wanna go for a walk?" Dean asked and Sam shrugged, "Sure."

Dean led the way out to the front door, listening to Sam's cane tapping along behind him.

As the Winchesters were putting on their shoes, Bobby peered through the living room doorway.

"Don't stray too far, boys," he cautioned and Dean sighed in exasperation.

"Bobby, we're not little kids," he snarked, "We can take care of ourselves."

"I know that, ya idjit," Bobby snapped back, "But it looks like its gonna start pouring any minute and you two don't wanna get drenched."

Dean looked up through the small window in the front door and was surprised to see that the sky had indeed taken on a dark hue. He frowned; it had been bright and sunny when he'd woken up.

"I mean it," Bobby continued, looking pointedly at Sam.

"If it starts raining we'll come back inside," Dean promised.

"C'mon Sammy," he placed a hand on his brother's elbow and guided Sam out the door.

SPN

Sam felt like he could keep walking forever. Dean had let him lead the way, saying that it would be good practice and Sam hadn't objected. He listened intently to the crunch of gravel beneath their feet as he and Dean walked slowly down the road that led to Bobby's Salvage Yard.

The wind had picked up a bit, chilling the air, but Sam didn't mind. It helped clear his mind.

What was he going to do? His father clearly didn't want him around and Dean only wanted him to be happy. If he stayed at Bobby's he'd be making John happy and maybe even Dean but he would be miserable. He didn't want to be away from his brother. Even though Dean said he'd stay with Sam, the young man knew that his brother looked up to their father and would probably follow him into Hell and back if John told him to.

Sam wished his father would just listen to him. He might not be able to see but he could read and that meant he could research. Sure, it wasn't great, but it was a very important part of the job and needed to be done.

But Dad thinks I'm useless, Sam thought mutinously and stumbled when he tripped over an obstacle in the road.

"Whoa! Careful, Sammy," Dean grabbed his arm to steady him, "Maybe we should turn back."

Sam shook his head, "I want to keep going."

"Okay," Dean replied and they continued walking.

Sam raised his free hand and rubbed at his eyes.

Maybe Dad's right, Sam admitted, I can't even read the frickin' alphabet anymore; I am useless.

"Stop it," Dean's voice startled Sam and he jumped, "What?"

"Beating yourself up," his brother replied as though he could read Sam's thoughts.

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam muttered but Dean scoffed.

"I know that look, Sam," he continued, "You're still thinking about what Dad did last night."

It wasn't a question. Dean knew exactly what was on his brother's mind.

Sam hunched his shoulders, "What if Dad's right, Dean? I can barely read Braille, what if I never get it?"

Sam felt a hand on his shoulder, stopping him, "You will, Sammy. It just takes practice, like everything else. Remember when I taught you to drive the Impala? You thought you'd never be able to do that either but you figure it out."

Sam bit his lip, "This is different-"

"How? Huh?" Dean replied, "How is this different."

"Dad doesn't want me to do it," Sam answered quietly. John had been adamant about Sam learning to drive the Impala so he would be able to come with his father and brother on hunts and get them back to the motel room if they were too badly injured to do so themselves.

"So what?" Dean replied, "He didn't want you to graduate high school but you did."

Sam glanced up when he felt a cold drop of water hit his face.

"I don't know what to tell you, Sam," Dean continued, "Do whatever you think is best. Whatever you do, you won't be disappointing me, okay?"

Sam nodded, "Maybe we should go back, it's starting to rain."

"Yeah," Dean agreed and turned Sam around. They began walking back the way they came when the sky opened up and seemed to dump chilly water on them. Sam gasped in shock and wrapped his free arm around his middle, already shivering.

"Shit!" Dean swore, spitting out rainwater.

"W-we should c-call Bobby," Sam suggested, teeth chattering.

He heard as Dean patted his pockets, muttering obscenities as he did so.

"Damn it!" Dean cursed again and Sam narrowed his eyes, "What's wrong?"

"I think I left my phone at the house."

Sam sighed and blinked water out of his eyes.

"C'mon, let's hurry," Dean grabbed his elbow and began tugging him along at a steady pace.

"Dean!" Sam cried as he tripped, staggering and almost falling.

His brother didn't stop and Sam struggled to keep up with his sibling.

"D-Dean!" Sam called and finally Dean stopped.

"What?"

Sam gasped for breath, his side burning uncomfortably.

"Sam? You okay?" he felt his brother grip his shoulders with both hands.

"M-my side-" Sam ground out, "H-hurts."

"You think you can walk?" Dean asked and Sam nodded, "Walk… yeah… I can do that."

"Sorry man," Dean apologized, and squeezed his brother's shoulder.

Sam nodded didn't protest when Dean took hold of his elbow, prying the cane away from already-freezing fingers.

SPN

Bobby Singer glanced up when the front door slammed open and two soaking wet and freezing Winchesters stumbled inside.

"Jesus Christ boys!" Bobby exclaimed, "You don't have the brains to call for a ride?!"

"F-forgot my phone," Dean replied as he shucked off his waterlogged boots and turned to help Sam out of his dripping flannel over-shirt.

Bobby said nothing but moved to the stairs, heading to the linen closet to grab towels. With his armload of soft, fluffy donations, the grizzled hunter came back down and glanced at the brothers still wearing most of their clothes.

"You'll never get warm like that," he commented, "Take 'em all off."

Dean scowled immediately, "All?"

Bobby rolled his eyes, "Everything but yer panties, Princess."

Striding past the boys, Bobby deposited the towels onto the couch, arranging them into a nest and then made his way to the kitchen, nodding with satisfaction at the twin piles of drenched clothes in front of the brother who now only wore their boxers.

"Go on into the living room," he told Dean, "I'll be out in a minute."

Bobby took a few minutes to make a pot of tea- something the boys were sure to hate- and then once again returned to the living room. Sam and Dean were both bundled up in the towels, shaking, faces pale.

Bobby set the teapot down on the coffee table and poured two mugs full of the fragrant liquid, "Drink this."

Dean scowled, "I hate tea."

"Than you should have listened to me when I said it was gonna rain," Bobby growled and set the first cup in Sam's trembling hands.

The grizzled hunter looked worriedly at the young man; Sam's face was drawn and as white as paper, his lips almost purple. Dean seemed to notice Bobby's scrutiny and shifted closer to his sibling so that their shoulders touched.

"H-have yo-you h-heard from Dad y-yet?" Sam asked, his voice whispery.

Bobby shook his head, "Don't worry about him, son. Just concentrate on gettin' warmed up."

"C'mon Sammy," Dean urged, "Drink your tea."

Bobby was glad to see the older sibling recovering quickly from being out in the downpour for close to forty-five minutes but he was concerned for Sam.

The young man was still shaking; his face was still deathly pale. Bobby made a mental note to keep a very close eye on his recovery.

Sam sighed and closed his eyes, leaning against his brother's shoulder.

"Hey! Boy!" Bobby reached out and shook Sam's knee, "Keep yer eyes open."

"Sammy," Dean said concernedly, "Drink the tea. You'll feel better."

Bobby frowned when Sam didn't reply right away; he sighed and stared sightlessly down at his lap.

Dean grabbed the cup from his brother's hands for fear that it would spill and reached up to palm Sam's face.

"I'll get some blankets," Bobby commented, not waiting for Dean to answer and headed back upstairs. He grabbed the heavy feather-filled duvet off Sam's bed and bundled it in his arms, next he grabbed a hot water bottle from the bathroom cupboard.

Dean had begun to rub Sam's arms vigorously, talking nonsensical to him, trying to keep him awake.

"Here," Bobby held out the thick blanket, "Wrap 'im up in this."

Dean took the duvet gratefully and draped it around his brother so that only Sam's face could be seen.

Bobby boiled some water in the kettle, preparing to fill up the water bottle.

The grizzled hunter was carefully pouring hot water into the bottle when the front door slammed open, causing him to jump.

"What the hell-" Bobby half-turned and saw a tall, dark shadow looming over the brothers in the living room.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Dean jumped and shot a look towards the front door, frowning at his father's large form silhouetted in the doorway.

He didn't have time for this shit.

Returning his attention back to his brother, Dean addressed Bobby, jolting the older man from his surprise at seeing the eldest Winchester arrive at such an inconvenient time.

"Bobby! What are you doing in there? I could really use your help!"

"Dean," John called from the front door and the young man heard the dull thud of boots on the hardwood, coming closer.

Ignoring his father, the older brother peered down at his sibling. Sam's eyes were half-closed in a face as pale as paper, his lips an unhealthy purple hue.

"Hold on Sammy," Dean murmured and tried to bundle the duvet tighter around his brother's trembling body, "You'll be warm in a minute."

Dean looked up when a bright red hot water bottle, wrapped in an old dishtowel, was pushed in front of his face. Taking the bottle, Dean shoved it unceremoniously underneath the blankets, parking it between his brother's side and the back of the couch.

"Dean, is he-" John had entered the living room, his eyes puffy and red-rimmed, his salt-and-pepper hair plastered to his head with rainwater.

"Siddown and shut up, Johnny," Bobby growled and the younger man dropped into one of the wingback chairs across from the couch.

"D-D-" Sam stuttered but Dean shushed him, "Don't worry about him, Sammy. You just pay attention to me."

To ensure that his sibling did just that, Dean put his hands on either side of Sam's face and turned it so that the younger boy was staring- albeit blindly- at him.

"Think warm thoughts, Sammy," Dean said quietly, "Like, uh, a tropical beach… yeah, with, uh, white sand and Pina Coladas and hot girls in bikinis."

Dean smiled when the corners of his brother's lips curled up; already his shaking was subsiding.

"How's 'e doing?" Bobby asked from beside John's seat.

Dean nodded, "You'll be okay, Sammy, right?"

"Mmmm," Sam muttered, his eyes slipping closed. Dean placed a hand on his brother's brow and feeling no unusual warmth beneath his fingers, let Sam rest.

Once his sibling's breath was slow and steady, Dean turned his gaze to his father.

The older man looked like a kicked puppy- his hangdog expression not helping in the least- and Dean would have chuckled, now knowing where Sam had inherited that exact look, but he was not in the mood to laugh.

"You really hurt Sam last night, Dad," Dean announced soberly, "I don't care what your reasons were for telling him that shit but that was really low."

John glanced down at his hands dangling between his knees.

"I want Sam to be happy, with whatever he chooses," Dean told him, "Even if that means he continues traveling with us."

John nodded, "It's just…"

"Yes," Dean prompted snarkily, arms crossed over his chest to try and prevent himself from throttling the man.

"Sam didn't listen to me when I told him not to leave, Dean. He deliberately disobeyed me even though he knew- he knew- the dangers out there!"

"Go ahead, John, tell us what you're really thinking," Bobby growled, peering down his blunt nose at the younger man.

"So you think Sam hasn't been punished enough for not listening to you? Is that it?" Dean snapped, "Jesus, Dad!"

"Yes! No, that's not what I mean!" John stammered, clearly not completely sober.

"Sure, this might not have happened if Sam had listened to you," Dean consented, "But a werewolf could have killed him, or a vamp or some other bastard if he'd stayed with us."

John nodded his head vigorously in agreement.

"Yeah, yeah," he said and wiped a hand over his face, "I just…"

The man sucked in a shaky breath and let it out slowly. He looked directly at his eldest son and his eyes were moist, "I just… I didn't want him to get hurt. If he left, well, I couldn't be there to protect him. If Sam had stayed, I might have been able to do something but now…"

John shook his head sadly, "I'm afraid that he'll get hurt, Dean. It's not safe on the road; even if he promises not to leave the motel room… things have a way of following us home and I… Jesus… I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if Sam got hurt."

Dean's eyebrows rose up his forehead in surprise. Bobby expression was less impressed. He knew John was drunk as a skunk and likely to forget this little heart to heart in the morning. He, wisely, was taking the other man's words with a grain of salt.

"I, uh, don't know what to say," Dean admitted.

"Don't push me away, Dean," John said, almost begging, "I almost lost Sam once… don't shut me out for good."

Dean nodded and swallowed.

"Okay," he muttered, "Sure."

John gave a self-conscious smile.

"Why are you only wearing boxers?"

Dean glanced down, realizing that the towel he'd draped around his shoulders was open and closed it.

"Sam and I went for a walk and it started to rain," he explained, hoping Bobby wouldn't point out that they had done so against his advice.

John still looked confused so Dean continued, "And we didn't have the phone to call for a ride so we got a bit wet."

Bobby grunted, "Looked like a pair of drowned rats."

"Is Sam alright?" John asked, leaning forward, his expression now concerned.

"Yeah, he's fine," Dean affirmed, "Just tired."

"Okay," the eldest Winchester said, then scratched at the salt-and-pepper hair at the back of his head, "I'm gonna go and grab a shower."

Dean watched as his father left the living room, heading upstairs slowly.

The young man met Bobby's gaze and the grizzled hunter shrugged, "You know yer Daddy better than I do."

Dean nodded, "He'll be an asshole once he's sobered up."

Glancing down at his brother, Dean ran a hand over Sam's short hair and sighed.

"How are you feelin' son?" Bobby asked.

"Me? Okay," Dean answered, "Just frustrated with Dad."

"Why don't you drink some of that tea I made for you?" Bobby offered, "And get some shut-eye yourself."

SPN

"Nuh-no," Sam muttered in his sleep, turning onto his side, "No. Dean. Dean!"

"Sam! Son, its alright!"

The eighteen-year old startled at someone's hand on his shoulder.

"It's just me," Bobby's gruff voice said and Sam relaxed, shivered.

"Where's D'n? Don' feel good," Sam muttered and tried to burrow further into the couch.

He felt a cool hand on his brow and Bobby swore quietly. He listened to the hunter's footsteps fade as the man headed upstairs and shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position on the cushions that didn't hurt his back.

"Sammy? Sam," Dean's voice made the young man stop moving and he struggled to sit up.

"Hey, take it easy," Dean said and Sam felt his brother's hands on his shoulders, helping him.

A second hand touched Sam's forehead and this time it was Dean who cursed, his language somewhat more colourful than Bobby's had been.

"Shit, Sammy, you're burning up."

The young man nodded and leaned back, "S'cold, D'n."

"I know Sammy," Dean murmured and rubbed his shoulders, "Bobby's going to see if he has anything for your fever."

Sam closed his eyes and sighed, listing to one side until he leaned against Dean.

"S'Dad here?" Sam muttered quietly.

"Uh huh," Dean answered distractedly, "He's in Bobby's garage, working on a car I think."

Sam frowned. Dad never did that.

"What's wrong?" he asked, opening his eyes.

"Nothing. Just wanted some time to himself or something. I didn't ask," Dean replied.

Sam didn't think their father had even touched a car- other than the Impala- since his wife's death.

"Is it me?" Sam whispered.

"What? No, of course not! You gotta stop thinking like that, Sammy!" Dean exclaimed.

"It's Dad with the problem, not you."

Sam nodded slowly.

"Oh, here's Bobby," Dean announced, changing the subject.

"I figured these would help him sleep," Bobby said and Dean pushed Sam up so that he was sitting instead of resting against him.

Sam felt Dean put two capsules into his palm, "What are they?"

"NyQuil," his older brother answered, "And here's some water."

Sam took hold of the cup Dean set in his hand. He quickly took the gel caps and washed them down, finishing the water.

"Lie back down, Sammy and get some rest," Dean instructed.

Sam did as his brother asked, grimacing in pain until he found a better position and his back didn't hurt as much, before sighing and closing his eyes, waiting for the medicine to kick in.

W

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean assured Sam as he heaved into the toilet bowl.

Sam gripped the rim with white knuckles, his stomach feeling as though it was turning itself inside out.

Tears leaked down Sam's face and snot dribbled from his nose.

"Are you done?" Dean asked and Sam nodded tiredly.

With a steadying hand on his elbow, the young man stood and Dean led him to the bathroom sink.

Sam gratefully took the cup of water Dean offered him and rinsed out his mouth, the acrid taste of vomit making his sore stomach nauseous again.

"Tell Bobby I'm sorry," Sam muttered to his brother and Dean squeezed his arm, "Don't worry about it, Sammy. He doesn't care about the carpet."

Sam lowered his head. He hadn't gotten up fast enough and had puked all over the carpet in the living room and the coffee table before Dean grabbed him and rushed him into the bathroom.

SPN

The T-Bird's windshield shattered with a satisfying crunch when John smashed the sledgehammer into it.

Lifting the hammer up again, the eldest Winchester let it slam onto the hood with a squeal of tearing metal.

The car had been a lost cause- Bobby couldn't find the necessary parts to fix it and so it had sat, for what looked like months in the garage- until John caught sight of it.

He needed something to vent all his anger and frustration- rather than his sons- and the old T-Bird surely wouldn't mind a little remodeling.

The man swung the sledgehammer again and again until his arms trembled and his back ached. Exhausted, John leaned against the heap of crushed metal and wiped his brow with his forearm.

The hunter closed his eyes and sighed. He really didn't know what to do, didn't know what the right course of action to take.

He was ready to move on. Never one to stay in one place for any length of time, John was beginning to get antsy. While he and Dean were here people were dying. But he had promised to wait a month and damn it he would. No matter how much he hated the idea.

He was already on thin ice with Dean. His eldest son certainly would not be pleased to find his father had left to continue hunting in the midst of Sam's current crisis.

Setting the sledgehammer down on the workbench, John decided he should go inside so Dean and Bobby wouldn't think he'd disappeared again.

SPN

Sam struggled to shove the orderly away but he was too weak. He couldn't see the man but he could feel the presence hovering above him, feel the body heat coming off his attacker in waves as they struggled.

The man grabbed his arms and pinned them to his sides, hissing his name, "Sam, Sam, stop fighting me."

"Let me go! Please! No more!" Sam cried and kicked out, trying to wriggle free.

"Sam, you need to calm down, son," Bates' voice came from somewhere off to Sam's right and the young man fought even more, "Don't take anymore! Please! I can't! Let me go! Let me go!"

Tears of fear streamed down Sam's face and he tried to twist away, off the operating table and away from the evil doctor.

The orderly lost his grip on Sam and the eighteen-year old fell onto his hands and knees on the floor- the drop not nearly as long as he expected it to be- and was promptly tackled.

Sam splayed out on the floor, his cheek pressed against the carpet- why was there carpet- and his lower back loudly protested the weight on top of it.

The young man cried out in pain and the orderly quickly released him.

"Sam? Sammy? Snap out of it, man," the orderly demanded, reaching out to touch his face instead.

Sam was so confused; he had no clue what was happening. How did they know his name? He didn't like Bates' and his cronies calling him by his name.

The young man shrunk away from his tormentors, whimpering. Panting for air, Sam thought he heard the orderly say something about his Dad but that didn't make sense, what was happening? Why couldn't they just leave him alone?

Sam didn't even feel it when he collapsed- hitting the floor with a dull thud- and lost consciousness.

SPN

Dean was terrified. He had no idea what was wrong with his brother. It had only been a few hours since Sam had started feeling feverish and now he was out cold on Bobby's living room floor.

Dean quickly checked for a pulse and found it instantly… but something was wrong…

"Bobby, come feel this," Dean called to the other hunter from where he sat crouched over his brother.

The older man bent over and put two fingers to Sam's neck, feeling for the carotid artery.

"That ain't right," Bobby commented and looked up worriedly at Dean.

Both men glanced up when the front door opened and John stepped inside.

The eldest Winchester stopped, stared for a moment at the scene before him before coming forward, "The hell happened here?"

"Something's really wrong with Sammy," Dean said and grabbed his sibling under the armpits, lifting his upper body up, "I think he needs a hospital."

John frowned, "I thought he just had a cold."

"Well, he just spent the last three minutes freaking out at me," Dean continued, "before passing out, so I'd say it's a little bit more than a cold."

John didn't react to the news.

"Aren't you overreacting a little?"

Both Bobby and Dean stared at the man as though he had suddenly grown an extra head.

The younger man looked down though, distracted when he felt his sibling stir in his arms.

"D'n?"

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean murmured, "I'm here."

"Why s'cold?"

"You have a fever," the older brother informed him, "Hold on, we're going to the hospital."

Sam startled and twisted in his brother's grip, "No! No! I don't wanna go! I feel fine! Don't make me go!"

Dean struggled to keep a hold of the younger man, "Sam! Stop it! Let me help you up!"

Breathing heavily, Sam nodded and Dean helped him sit at the edge of the couch.

"You were scaring me, Sam," Dean told him, sitting beside his brother.

The younger man lowered his head, "I'm sorry. I'm okay. Just a fever. Right? I'll be alright in a couple of days."

"Son," Bobby began but Sam lifted his head, his white eyes welling with tears, "Please don't make me go to the hospital, Bobby. Please."

Bobby and Dean exchanged looks.

"He said he doesn't want to go," John spoke up, "So don't make him go. You two have had bad fevers before and have made it out alive. Just wait. It's only been, what? Five hours since you came back in from walking in the rain. This'll probably be a twenty-four hour thing."

Dean glared at his father before turning to his sibling, "Okay, Sam, no hospital. But if you don't feel right, you tell me that moment, deal?"

Sam nodded, "I promise. Can I go back to sleep now? I'm kind of tired."

Dean nodded and squeezed his brother's shoulder, not completely relaxed just yet. But it was clear that his brother was scared to go into the hospital and Dean didn't want to put any unnecessary stress on his already nervous sibling.

So, he'd keep his mouth shut but his eyes open and if he saw anything he didn't like, he'd be shoving Sam into the Impala and driving down to Sioux Falls General whether the younger man liked it or not.

Dean stood and Sam curled up on the couch, closing his eyes. Within minutes the younger brother was sleeping and Dean sighed, looking to Bobby to say something.

"You want a drink?" the grizzled hunter asked and Dean shrugged.

Dean and John followed Bobby into the kitchen and sat quietly, drinking beer.

Dean silently went through his brother's symptoms and he had to admit, it did sound a bit like a bad fever. Maybe John was right. They just had to wait and see, maybe it would clear up on its own. Dean hoped so.

Remembering Sam's weakened immune system, Dean guessed it made sense that something like a common cold had knocked his brother on his ass. Maybe he was just being the overprotective big brother.

SPN

Randall Gorman tore the yellow police tape away from the front door to North Hall and stepped inside. Just to get a feel for things, he'd visited the main building and even he was surprised at the stark contrast between the two buildings.

While Cathcart Hall was cheery, with bright paint, framed pictures on the walls and friendly staff; North Hall looked like the set for a horror movie.

Peeling grey walls and scuffed, dusty tile floors were anything but inviting.

Gorman though, wasn't interested in the décor. He followed the gold string-like strand as it trailed down the hallway and towards a set of elevators. The emotional residue wasn't new but it wasn't old either; it was clear, even to Randall that the boy had not been brought in through the front doors.

He knew he could just turn around and follow the trail out of Marshalltown but Randall was nothing if not thorough. He wanted to know as much about the boy as possible and that meant investigating where Findlay's doctor friend had kept him.

SPN

Dean knew it. He stomped down the stairs, the house silent but for his brother's cries.

"D'n!" Sam's voice was hoarse and thin, clearly scared.

"Sam!" Dean called back and turned on the living room light as soon as he reached the bottom step.

It was early in the morning- the sun hadn't even begun to rise yet- but Dean hadn't hesitated to leap out of bed and race to his brother's side.

The younger man was sitting up on the couch, arms wrapped around himself, shivering. Although he had taken a NyQuil before going to sleep, it was clearly ineffective as Dean caught sight of his brother's wide, pale eyes surrounded by dark circles.

"I don't feel good," Sam moaned, sounding just like a little kid again and Dean immediately sat beside his brother.

"M-My back hurts," Sam complained and hunched forwards as though putting pressure on his back hurt.

Dean lifted up Sam's shirt but say nothing out of the ordinary except for the large, ugly scar from having one kidney forcibly removed.

Carefully, Dean poked his brother's back, moving downwards, trying to find the source of the pain.

"I can't find anything, Sammy," Dean said and settled his brother's shirt back down.

Sam turned his head so that his white eyes stared into Dean's hazel ones, "Please, Dean, can you sing the song? The one Mom sang to you?"

Dean blinked in confusion, "What? Sam, say that again?"

"H-Hey Jude," Sam said softly, his words slurring, "M-Mom sang it to you wh-when you felt sick."

Dean stared at his sibling. Sam hadn't asked for him to sing that song since he was nine.

"Okay, Sammy," Dean said, "Let me just go get Dad and Bobby and then I'll sing, alright?"

Sam nodded, his eyes starting to slip closed.

Dean ran up the stairs and knocked frantically on Bobby's bedroom door. The grizzled hunter flung the door open and stood for a moment, looking confused, clad in a pair of old grey long johns.

"I am taking Sam to see the doctor," Dean announced and Bobby nodded silently before closing the door again so that he could pull on some decent clothes.

Next, Dean went back to the bedroom he usually shared with Sam- now with his father- and shook John awake.

"Huh? Dean, what is it?" John asked, alert for a supernatural threat.

"Sam asked me to sing him 'Hey Jude'," Dean told his father.

John sat up, his dark eyebrows knitted together, "But he hasn't asked that in… years."

"Exactly," his eldest son agreed, "I am going to the hospital."

Without having to be asked, John got up and yanked on a clean pair of jeans as Dean headed back downstairs.

Sam was still sitting up, leaning against the back of the couch.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean gently shook his brother's shoulder, "Wake up."

Sam blinked sleepily, "The song?"

"In a minute," Dean said, distracted, "Bobby! Can you help me?"

"Okay, Sammy, can you stand?" Dean asked and Sam nodded lazily, trying to push himself up from the couch. Dean reached out and wrapped one of Sam's arms around his neck.

"M'okay, Dean," Sam protested weakly but the older brother ignored him.

"Can you take his other arm, Bobby?" Dean asked the grizzled hunter and the older man did so.

John stared, somewhat annoyed at the scene before him.

"What can I do?" he asked, as though he hadn't been a bastard to Sam since they'd arrived at the Salvage Yard.

"Drive the car," Dean jerked his head in the direction of the Impala's keys sitting on the coffee table as he, Bobby and Sam slowly started moving forward.

"Wanna go to sleep, Dean," Sam grumbled and closed his eyes.

"Not yet," Dean argued, "Stay awake."

He could feel his sibling's pulse thrumming fast and irregular against his neck and he kicked himself for not taking Sam to the hospital when he'd first felt something was wrong.

"Uh… you want to hear the song? Don't ya?" Dean asked as they reached the front hallway.

Dean grabbed the door handle with his free hand, not even bothering to take the time to put shoes on.

"Yeah," Sam replied quietly.

"Okay," Dean said and cleared his throat, "Here it goes: Hey Jude, don't make it bad, sing a sad song and make it better…"

Dean silently thanked his father for turning on the porch light behind them, feeling as though a tumble down the steps would do nothing for Sam's current state.

The young man continued speaking, his singing becoming more and more like muttering as he carefully picked his way across Bobby's driveway.

John had the foresight to go ahead of the trio once they had left the porch and turned the Impala on and opened her back door.

Carefully, Dean settled Sam on the seat and leaned him back, his brother's eyes slipping closed again.

Bobby peered anxiously at the eighteen-year-old's pale, sweaty face and gripped Dean's shoulder comfortingly.

Dean went around the back of the car and slipped into the seat beside his brother, shifting over so that he sat right beside Sam, resting his sibling's head on his shoulder.

Bobby took shotgun and John pulled out of the driveway, looking genuinely concerned for his youngest son since first hearing that he had gone missing on his way to college.


	20. Chapter Twenty

Dean paced the waiting room anxiously under Bobby and John's equally worried gazes.

"Son, why don't you sit down?" the veteran hunter suggested, "Walking in circles ain't gonna make time go any faster."

Dean shook his head before raking one hand through his short-cropped hair.

"I can't," he muttered, mostly to himself.

"Dean," John spoke up but his son ignored him.

"I should have taken him in as soon as I knew something was wrong," Dean mutterd to himself, "I knew something wasn't right."

"Dean," John tried again, "It's not your fault."

The hunters had been in the waiting room for over an hour, Sam having been whisked away on a stretcher almost as soon as they'd stepped through the door. Luckily, the youngest Winchester had been unconscious at the time Dean and Bobby had handed him over to a doctor but there was sure to be trouble once Sam awoke.

If he did wake up at all, Dean thought sadly. Although Sam's fever had been high, it was the other symptoms that scared his brother.

As an orderly rolled the gurney carrying Sam, through a set of double doors that led deeper into the hospital, the doctor had taken a moment to ask what had brought the Winchesters and Bobby to Sioux Falls General.

Dean told the doctor that Sam had developed a fever after they'd been outside in the rain the day before. He'd also informed him of Sam's complaints of a sore back, his rapid heartbeat and confusion.

Before the doctor left, he asked if there was anything he should know about Sam before he began running tests.

"Uh… yeah…" Dean began, unsure of exactly how to explain Sam's scars.

"You heard of what happened in Marshalltown, Iowa?" Bobby spoke up while Dean hedged.

The doctor nodded, "Why hasn't heard? It was all over the news. All those poor kids… wait? You mean…"

Bobby nodded, "Sam was there."

The doctor looked shocked but quickly regained his composure.

At least they weren't lying. Sam had been at Dunhill Psychiatric Hospital. They just failed to mention that he wasn't one of the victims who'd been released into protective custody after the raid on the facility.

Once the doctor had left, retreating through the same set of doors the orderly had taken Sam through, Dean rounded on the veteran hunter.

"What the hell did you tell him for?!"

"Dean, calm down," John warned, his son's raised voice drawing looks from other people in the lobby.

"Sometimes the truth is better than a lie, son," Bobby commented.

Dean opened his mouth to argue; irritated that Bobby did have a point.

Sighing, he followed his father and friend over to the waiting room for what was likely to be a long and stressful wait.

Dean had only managed to sit still for about ten minutes before he'd stood up and began his pacing.

Every time he saw a doctor approach the waiting room, he looked up hopefully, only to be disappointed.

"I was the one who said Sam didn't need a doctor," John continued now, looking sadly at his eldest son.

Dean didn't reply. Normally, if John told him to do something he would without question but when it came to Sammy. No, he should have done something as soon as he'd felt his brother's heartbeat was off, far too fast and irregular to be healthy.

"Why is it always Sam?" Dean asked, looking at his father as though he expected John to give him an answer.

The older man shrugged helplessly, he had no idea why bad luck always seemed to land on his youngest son.

Bobby stood and stretched, lifting his baseball cap off his head to ruffle his thinning reddish hair.

"I'm gonna go to the cafeteria and get some coffee," he announced, "You wanna come along?"

Dean nodded. He might as well. All this pacing was getting him nowhere.

"John, you want anything?" Bobby asked but the other man shook his head, "I'm alright for now."

Nodding, the two men started down the hallway in search of the cafeteria, leaving John to wait for news on his youngest.

SPN

Voices came back to Sam first. They were indistinct, muffled, but he could tell they were close by.

Who was talking?

Dean? Bobby? Dad?

A feminine voice spoke up, sounding as though it was asking a question. Was Rayann Muir here too?

A deeper voice, a man's voice, replied and Sam's heart seemed to freeze in his chest.

No. No, no, no, no, please. It couldn't be. Where was Dad? Where were Dean and Bobby?

Sam opened his eyes to a blanket of white but he could sense people surrounding him, trapping him.

Struggling to sit up, Sam gasped as pain seared through his lower back, nausea bubbling up in his stomach.

A firm hand touched his chest and began pressing down, coaxing him to lie down again.

"Hold on, son," the man- Bates, it was Bates- said, "It's alright. You're okay. Lay back down."

"No," Sam whimpered as he was forced onto his back again, "Please… No more…"

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes and leaked down the sides of his face.

"Doctor," the female voice said, "Maybe we should give him something."

Sam cringed away when the doctor leaned forward, patting his chest in a comforting manner, "I just need to take some blood. It won't hurt."

No, this couldn't be happening. Why was Bates still here? Why wasn't he with Dean?

Sam's stomach curdled and he knew he was going to be sick. Rolling onto his side- the hand holding him slipping away- Sam threw up.

The young man fought when he felt hands grab at him and his fist connected with someone's chin.

"Let me go! Please! I can't do this anymore! Leave me alone!" Sam shouted as loudly as he could, writing as more hands held him down and he felt the pinch of a needle in the crook of his elbow.

"Pl-please… don't… D-Dean…" Sam muttered faintly as the sedative began to take effect and he slipped back into unconsciousness.

SPN

Dean's head snapped up when he heard footsteps approached and he couldn't but help feel relieved when he saw the doctor who had met with them, walking towards the waiting room. Dean hurried forwards to meet the man halfway, brimming with questions about his brother.

"Is Sam okay? What's wrong? Can you fix it? Does he need medicine? Did he wake up?"

Doctor Greene held up a hand, "One question at a time."

John and Bobby joined them and the doctor began.

"I'm afraid I don't have good news for you," Dr. Greene began, rubbing absently at his sore chin, "The blood test came back positive. Sam's kidney is failing."

Dean's mouth dropped open in shock.

"Can't you… I don't know… give him pills or something?"

The doctor shook his head, "Your brother is going to need a new kidney."

"Well," Dean replied immediately, "I have two, give him one of mine. We're brothers, it should work."

Dr. Greene smiled at the young man but the gesture was not warm, "It is more complicated than simply giving Sam a new kidney. We have to find someone with a matching blood type. Your brother has a very rare blood type and it will not be easy to find him a new kidney."

"But…" Dean began and felt his father's hand on his shoulder and John spoke up, "What can we do right now, doctor?"

"I want Sam to start dialysis as soon as possible," Dr. Greene told them.

Dean frowned. Dialysis? He'd never heard of that before.

"What is that?" he asked, wondering if it was painful.

"It is a procedure that will do the work of Sam's kidney- clean his blood- while we wait for a donor," the doctor explained as though speaking to a child but Dean didn't notice.

"Does it hurt?" Dean wanted to know and Dr. Greene shook his head, "But it does take some time. I could tell you more about it right now but I'm sure you'd like to see Sam."

Dean's eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas.

"Sam's awake?"

Dr. Greene shook his head, "He did wake though, before I gave him the blood test but we had to give him a sedative to calm him down."

"He was scared?" Dean glared at the man, "And you didn't get us?"

"Dean," Bobby spoke up, but the young man interrupted him, "No, Bobby. Sam woke up with some strange doctor poking at him. He must have been terrified. Why didn't you come get us?"

"There wasn't time," Dr. Greene explained, "It was easier to give your brother a sedative."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, not sure he liked the doctor so much now.

"Can we go see Sam?" John prompted, trying to change the subject.

"Yes," Dr. Greene said, "This way."

As the three men followed the doctor, John glared at his eldest son.

"Dean, get a hold of yourself," the father hissed but the younger man ignored him.

"He knew Sam was in Dunhill," he replied, "He must have seen Sam was scared and just stuck him with another needle."

John sighed, "He can't come running to get us when he has a job to do, Dean."

The young man didn't say anything the rest of the trip up to the fourth floor.

W

Dean frowned at the sight of his brother lying unmoving in his hospital bed, blankets pulled up to his chest. Sam's face was pale and he had dark circles beneath his eyes. An IV pole stood beside the bed, the tube leading to Sam's right hand.

"I've put Sam on fluids and medicine to bring the fever down," Dr. Greene explained as he remained in the doorway, allowing Bobby and the two eldest Winchesters into the room.

"I'll come back in a while to check in," the doctor told them, "If there are any problems, please let the nurse on duty know."

Dean approached the bed and sat down on the edge, reaching out to run his hand over Sam's short hair.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean whispered, leaning in close to his sibling as John and Bobby sat down in the two chairs provided for visitors.

"I'm here," he continued, "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

SPN

Someone was sitting beside Sam. He could feel the right side of the bed dip down with the weight.

Sam's heartbeat picked up speed. Was it Bates? Was it one of the nurses?

Sam flinched when the person touched his head, smoothing his hair.

"Sammy?" a familiar voice spoke his name and Sam opened his eyes.

"D-Dean," he whispered, fearful that he was wrong.

"It's me, man," Dean assured him and Sam went limp with relief.

"W-What happened?" Sam asked, his mouth and throat dry.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked his own question.

"Tired," Sam answered and tried to sit up, only to have his lower back throb painfully.

"Easy," Sam felt his brother's hands on his arms, gently holding him down, "What do you remember?"

Sam sank back against the mattress and narrowed his eyes in concentration, "I remember it was raining and then… you… and… and Bates… and then you and Bobby… a-and B-Bates…"

"Okay," Dean soothed, "It's alright now. You've been really sick. You had a bad fever. Bates was never there. He's gone. Forever."

Sam nodded, "Where are we?"

"Hospital," Dean replied cautiously, "You were delirious, Sam. We had to take you in."

"Are Bobby and Dad here?" Sam asked. If they were, he hadn't heard them.

"Getting something to eat, but yeah, they're both here," Dean told him.

"Sam," Dean began and the tone of his voice told the younger man that he was going to say something he would not like.

Sam bit his lip and waited.

"You're… ah… Dr. Greene- your doctor- he said that you… well…"

"Dean," Sam said quietly, "Just tell me."

"Your kidney's failing!" Dean blurted out, "You need a new one."

Sam blinked, staring at the white fog over his eyes for a moment before he began laughing.

"Sam?" Dean asked, his tone worried, "Sammy?"

The eighteen-year old wrapped his arms around his middle as he tried to stop. It wasn't funny. Not in the least but he just couldn't help but laugh at how horribly ironic it was.

"Sam, don't go schizoid on me now," Dean begged and the younger man shook his head, tears squeezing out from underneath his closed eyelids.

Sam struggled to sit up, despite the pain in his back, and Dean helped him, keeping one hand at the nape of his younger brother's neck.

After a moment or two, Sam's laughter began to die down and then he was gasping, crying and grabbing onto his brother's shirt.

"Shhh," Dean soothed, rubbing Sam's back, "It'll be okay, you'll see. We'll get you a new kidney in no time."

Sam shook his head and wiped at his runny nose with one hand.

"I-It won't come," Sam said, "M-My blood…"

"Hey!" Dean snapped, "Dr. Greene said you had a rare blood type. He didn't say you were the only person with that blood type."

Sam wasn't really listening though. All he could hear was Bates' voice, every time the doctor had commented on his blood, telling him how special he was.

Sam shuddered, suddenly cold.

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, hugging him tightly. He didn't say anything else and for that, Sam was grateful. He just wanted to pretend for a little while that his life wasn't so messed up and that everything was okay.

SPN

"Sam woke up? Did you tell him what Dr. Greene said?" Bobby asked when he and John returned, coffee cups in hand.

Dean nodded, "Yeah, I told him."

"How'd he take it?" Bobby asked. John gave Dean the cup of coffee they'd bought for him and the young man took it eagerly, muttering his thanks.

"He's really upset… scared," Dean told them.

Bobby glanced at the youngest Winchester, fast asleep again, his face blotchy, a telltale sign that he'd been crying.

"Sam's strong," he said, "He'll pull through this."

"We should let Dr. Greene know Sam woke up," John spoke up, "He'll probably want to get dialysis started as soon as possible."

Dean nodded and turned his gaze to his brother. Bobby sighed, the young Winchester looked so peaceful and he was sure that the next few hours- if not days- were going to be trying for all of them.

SPN

"This is Dr. Patel," Dr. Greene introduced Bobby and the Winchesters to the petite Indian woman, "She will be performing the surgery to make the fistula."

Dean nodded and squeezed his brother's hand. Dr. Greene had already told them exactly what needed to be done for the dialysis but the older sibling was still nervous. Sam seemed to be in a state of shock. He had listened to Dr. Greene, without saying a word, barely blinking, only to grab for Dean's arm once the physician had left, trembling.

Dr. Greene was wasting no time in preparing Sam for dialysis. Time was not on their side, he had explained. With only one kidney, Sam would require treatment very soon. The doctor had informed the hunters that he had decided that a fistula should be used instead of the usual dialysis catheter because it might be months before Sam received a new kidney.

"Catheters," Dr. Greene explained, "Are usually used in the short-term."

Fistulas, however, lasted longer. But they also required surgery. An AV (or arteriovenous) fistula was created when an artery and a vein were joined together. This would allow blood to flow more freely and resulted in a lower infection rate than if a catheter was to be used.

The female doctor approached Sam, her dark eyes warm. Dean tightened his grip on his brother's hand.

"Hello Sam," Dr. Patel greeted in her accented voice; she reached out and picked up his free hand, shaking it, "It's nice to meet you."

The youngest Winchester dropped his hand as soon as the woman released it, saying nothing.

Dr. Greene cleared his throat, "I'd like to get Sam prepped for the surgery, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Dean didn't move for a moment. He leaned in close to his brother instead, "I'll be right there when you wake up, okay? I promise."

Sam inclined his head towards Dean's, his expression uncertain.

"Don't leave me alone," he whispered fearfully.

Dean's eyes pinched in sympathy and he reached up and squeezed the back of his brother's neck, "It'll be fine, Sammy. I have to go though. I will there as soon as you're out of surgery."

"O-Okay," Sam muttered and sniffed sadly.

Dean smiled reassuringly at his sibling even though he knew Sam couldn't see him.

Slipping off the bed, he followed his Dad and Bobby out the door, glancing over his shoulder before the turning and heading down the hallway.

God, Dean thought, please let this help Sammy.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

As soon as Dr. Greene came to tell the small family that the surgery had gone well and Sam was in the recovery room, Dean demanded to see his brother.

He had promised Sam he'd be there when he woke up and no one was going to stop him.

Although the doctor looked ready to argue, clearly about to remind the young man that it was against hospital policy, he nodded and instructed Bobby and the Winchesters to follow him.

Dean resisted the urge to run ahead of the doctor in his desire to see his brother.

Even though Dr. Greene had said everything had gone according to plan, Dean was still worried about his brother. The last thing he wanted was for Sam to wake up all alone.

As soon as the doctor opened the door to the room, Dean was at his brother's side, running a gentle hand over Sam's short hair.

"Your son should wake up very soon," Dr. Greene told John, "The anesthetic wares off quickly."

"Can we take Sammy home now?" Dean asked, glancing at the white bandages covering his brother's left arm from wrist to elbow.

Dr. Greene frowned, "I'm afraid not. He-"

Dean interrupted, "Why not? We don't live far. Why does Sam have to stay here?"

The doctor addressed John and Bobby instead of the irritated older brother, "As I was saying, Sam should remain here until we can start him on dialysis. His kidney is functioning at less than fifty percent and I do not want it to go into complete failure while he's home. By keeping your son here, I can monitor him to make sure he does not become more seriously ill."

John nodded, "We understand, doctor. Don't we, Dean?"

His eldest son nodded, "Yeah, I guess. Sam's not going to like it though."

Dr. Greene's expression turned sympathetic, "We are trying to move as quickly as possible to prevent Sam having to stay here any longer than necessary."

Dean peered at his brother and took hold of his right hand, squeezing lightly.

"How long until you can start dialysis?" Bobby asked the doctor.

"Normally it takes a fistula four to six weeks to mature but I am going to start Sam on dialysis the day after tomorrow," Dr. Greene explained, "Unfortunately, we don't really have the convenience of time."

"I've already put Sam on the donor list," the doctor assured them, "So hopefully we should hear from them soon."

Fishing in his pocket, the doctor pulled out a small black beeper and handed it to John, "When this goes off, that'll mean we have a kidney."

Dean left his brother side and walked over to his father, taking the device from his father's hand, "I'm with Sam the most. I'll look after it for him."

Dr. Greene nodded; ignoring the frustrated look John gave his eldest son, "If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to call a nurse. As soon as Sam's wake I'll have him moved to another room."

W

"Hey Sammy," Dean encouraged as his brother's eyelids began to fluttered, "C'mon, Sleeping Beauty."

"D'n?" Sam muttered thickly and Dean grinned, "I'm right here, just like I said I would be."

Sam's milky eyes opened halfway and he lifted his right hand, searching for his sibling. Dean grabbed Sam's hand in his own and squeezed.

Sam closed his eyes again, his expression calm.

"Hey," Dean reached out with his free hand and smoothed down Sam's short hair, "Haven't you rested enough?"

"D'n," Sam replied and opened his eyes again, "M'tired."

"I know," Dean told him, "But you've gotta wake up."

Sam sighed and his grip on Dean's hand tightened as he struggled to sit up.

Carefully, Dean helped ease his sibling into a sitting position, two pillows against Sam's back, on the gurney.

"Thirsty," Sam muttered and Dean frowned, "I don't think you can have anything to drink just yet but I'll let a nurse know you're awake."

Sam's eyebrows knitted together as his muzzy brain tried to understand everything his brother had just said. Dean smirked and pushed the 'call button' before sitting back to wait.

SPN

Over the rim of his coffee cup, Bobby watched John. The man looked tired and sad and angry.

"Penny for your thoughts?" the grizzled hunter asked, setting his drink down.

The father sighed and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.

"I'm worried about Sam," John began and Bobby gave him an incredulous look.

"I know you don't believe me," he continued, "But I do. This is serious."

"Yer damn right it's serious," Bobby agreed gruffly.

The younger man looked down, chagrinned, "I never wanted Sam to get hurt."

"Well he did," Bobby reminded him, "So what're you going to do?"

John looked up, slightly confused, "What do you mean?"

Bobby leaned back, lacing his hands together behind his neck, "Way I see it, Johnny, you can do one of two things. You can step up and start acting like the boy's Daddy or you can carry on as you were."

John grimaced at the accusation in his friend's voice.

He shook his head, "I'm not going anywhere. Not with Sam this sick."

Bobby frowned. So he was fine with abandoning his youngest when Sam had only been blind but now that his kidney had gone for a shit, he decided to act like a real father? That was rich coming from John Winchester.

The younger hunter seemed to know what Bobby had been thinking because he spoke up again, "At least Sam could have taken care of himself before… but now-"

The were interrupted when Bobby's cell phone chirruped to signal a text message had arrived and he glanced down at it.

"Sam's awake," he read out loud, "They've moved him to a room on the third floor."

John stood slowly, his expression disappointed, clearly upset that Dean hadn't texted him.

The two men grabbed their coffee cups and set off towards the elevators that would take them to the third floor.

SPN

Sam sighed as the ice chip in his mouth melted, sending cool water trickling down his throat.

"You want some more?" Dean asked and Sam nodded.

"How's your arm feeling?"

Sam inclined his head and reached out with his good hand to touch the gauze bandages and surgical tape covering his left arm, "Hurts a little."

"Let me know if it gets bad," Dean's voice spoke up, "And I'll get Dr. Greene give you something."

Sam looked up when he heard the door open and the familiar footsteps of Bobby and his father sounded in the room.

"How you feeling, son?" the veteran hunter's gruff tones asked and Sam shrugged.

"His back's still hurting," Dean spoke for him, "And his arm… but he's okay."

"Has Dr. Greene come to talk to him yet?" John's voice asked and Sam turned his head in Dean's direction.

"Uh… no," Dean said and Sam reached out, touching his brother's hand.

"What?" he asked, his throat tightening in fear.

He felt Dean pat his hand for a moment; "The Doc just wants to keep you here for one more day. Day after tomorrow he'll start you on dialysis."

Sam's eyes widened for a moment.

"Hey!" Dean's voice cried and Sam felt his brother's hand on his shoulder, "It'll be okay. I'll be here the entire time, alright? I'm not leaving you alone."

Sam nodded, feeling slightly better.

"Okay, Dean," he said quietly.

SPN

Dean stared down at his brother's lunch and frowned. He knew his wasn't exactly gourmet but it looked a hell of a lot better than Sam's.

Dr. Greene had come by to check on Sam and explained the dialysis process. Sam would have to come to the hospital four times a week for around five hours each time.

"Why so often?" Dean asked, knowing it was probably a stupid question.

"Sam's kidney is hardly functioning," Dr. Greene reminded them, "He could become very ill if the waste were to build-up in his blood."

Dean nodded, feeling tears prick the corners of his eyes.

"Also, because of your brother's size, it will take longer for the dialysis in general."

The doctor had informed them as well, that Sam should adhere to a strict diet while on dialysis, staying away from salty foods, excess protein and fluids.

So that was why Sam was forced to choke down bland tomato soup, apple juice and lime Jell-O instead of the usual hospital fare.

And I thought the food here was already made out of cardboard, Dean thought sarcastically, apparently I was wrong.

"Don't worry Sammy," Dean assured his brother, nudging the younger man's shoulder as he did so, "I'll try and sneak some McDonald's in here for you."

Sam smirked at the comment and continued eating.

SPN

Randall Gorman crossed the state line into South Dakota and sighed, rubbing his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

He was exhausted from all the driving he'd been doing and after the hospital in Iowa; he wasn't so sure he wanted to go through with this.

Sure he was a hell of a good tracker- the best, if he could say so- but this wasn't really his idea of a job.

He preferred to sniff out husbands who ran away from home with their twenty-year old interns to Jamaica or the odd foolish sap who thought they could hide from the mob.

He didn't look for poor teenagers who'd been kidnapped by criminally insane doctors and chopped up like Thanksgiving turkeys.

The North Hall, although it had had the Feds go through it with a fine-tooth comb, still looked as though Findlay's doctor friend had just stepped out for a moment and would return from a nice coffee break.

Randall shivered as he recalled his journey through the residence.

The place had been spooky as hell and so emotionally charged that Randall had to force himself to remain until he'd followed the kid's trail.

The feelings of sadness and fear were so prevalent that Randall hadn't even needed to use his powers to sense them.

At first glance, the North Hall had looked exactly like the insane asylum it was pretending to be; but as he walked deeper into the building, Randall saw the truth.

He traveled downwards first, into the basement levels of the residence. There, Randall saw a large room that was clearly some sort of laboratory. There were beakers and test tubes everywhere, some of which were broken and lay scattered in pieces on the white tiled floor and on the stainless steel countertops. Across the far wall were a half-dozen open shower stalls, similar to those found in prisons or high school change rooms. There were a couple of chairs in the room- one that had been tipped over- with leather straps on the arms.

Deciding that he had seen enough, Randall traveled upwards…

W

The man wiped a hand tiredly across his face, trying also to wipe away the memories and feelings associated with Dunhill Psychiatric Hospital.

Randall had seen the operating room, splatters of brown covering the steel table; he had stepped into the room he was sure the boy had been kept in, with its white tiled floors and white padded walls, a depressed-looking cot sitting across from the door.

Just find the kid, Gorman told himself, and after that he won't be your problem anymore.

Randall found tears welling up unbidden into his eyes at the thought of the North Hall, the emotional residue in the place affecting him more than usual.

Blinking his eyes, he focused his gaze on the thin golden thread trailing down the road, leading him directly to the boy.

Pressing his foot down on the accelerator, Randall found himself wanting only for this job to be over.

He didn't want to do something like this ever again.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

The day before Sam was scheduled to start dialysis, Rayann Muir came to visit.

Dean looked up and smiled as the physical therapist stepped into the room.

"Looks like you've got a visitor, Sammy," he told his brother and Sam looked up, his expression confused.

"Hi, Sam," she said and Sam relaxed.

"Hey," he replied quietly.

"How are you feeling?" Rayann asked as she approached the bed.

Sam shrugged, "Okay I guess. I can't wait to get out of here."

Rayann chuckled.

"Are we going to do any work today?" Sam asked.

Rayann shook her head before speaking, "I just came by to see how you were doing."

"Once I'm back home I'll keep reading," Sam told her, "I promise."

He startled a little when she touched his hand.

"You just focus on getting better, Sam, okay?"

Sam nodded and lowered his head.

The physical therapist glanced at Dean, "I was going to get a coffee from the cafeteria before leaving; do you want anything?"

Dean shook his head, "No thanks."

Rayann nodded, "You two take care. I'll see you later."

"Thanks for stopping by," Dean called as she walked out the door.

Dean sighed once Rayann was out of the room.

"One more day, Sammy," he said, "and hopefully you'll get to go home."

W

"I don't think this is a good idea, Dean," Sam told his brother, gripping the arms of the wheelchair as his sibling pushed him down the hallway slowly.

"Dr. Greene," Sam said.

"Pfft, what's he going to do? Ground you?" Dean scoffed, "You've been laying in bed for almost three days, you need a change of scenery."

Dean kept one hand on the wheelchair while the other was wrapped around the IV stand giving his brother much-needed fluids.

He had been tired of sitting on his butt beside Sam's bed and decided that they should take a little tour of the hospital.

"Want to visit the maternity ward? I bet those chicks are hot," Dean joked and Sam even chuckled a little bit, "Or we could go down to the cafeteria and get you some real food."

"We should probably go back soon," Sam said instead.

"Killjoy," Dean teased and turned the chair around.

He pushed Sam down the hall a ways before pausing at an open door. A girl sat in the bed; she had to be about eleven or twelve years old and looked up at the brothers as they passed.

"Hi," Dean called softly.

"Hey," She replied and lifted a thin hand.

"Who is it?" Sam asked and turned in his seat.

"A kid," Dean muttered and pushed his brother's chair into the room.

"Hey there, Sweetheart," Dean said, "What's your name?"

Dean set the brakes on the chair and crouched down beside his brother.

"Kayla," she replied and Dean noticed how big and blue her eyes were. She had short-cropped hair and was stick-thin. There was an IV stand on the other side of her bed and a nasal cannula beneath her nose.

"I'm Dean," he told her before setting a hand on his sibling's arm, "And this is my brother, Sam."

"Why are you here alone?" Dean asked, a child this young should have her folks with her.

"My Dad's at the cafeteria," Kayla told them.

"So he's not coming back for a while?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows comically.

The girl laughed.

"What are you doing here?" She asked curiously.

"Hiding from Sammy's doctor," Dean told her with a smile.

"I wish I could hide from mine," Kayla said, "But I'm not allowed to get out of bed."

"What are you in here for?" the girl asked, "Are you blind?"

Sam startled slightly; he had been so focused on just listening to his brother and Kayla talk that it surprised him when the girl spoke to him.

"Yeah," he replied, "But that's not why I'm here."

"Can't be worse than me," Kayla told them.

She turned so that Dean could see a healing scar along the left side of her head, "Brain tumor. Doctor's got all of it. I'll be able to go home in a few days."

Sam smiled, "Congratulations. That's great."

"It was pretty scary for a while," Kayla confessed, "But its okay now."

Sam was just about to speak when Dean muttered, "Oh shit."

"What are you two doing in here? You shouldn't be here!"

Dean smiled at the middle-aged nurse who was standing in the doorway, hands on her hips and an irritated expression on her lined face.

"We were just talking, Clara," Kayla told the woman, "That's all."

"They need to leave," Clara said, "And you need to get some rest, young lady."

"Sorry Ma'am," Sam said as Dean began pushing his chair out of the room, "We didn't mean to cause any trouble."

Dean grimaced as the nurse shut the door behind them.

"Let's go back to the room now," Sam suggested and Dean nodded in agreement.

SPN

"Sam will have to come back four times a week," Dr. Greene reminded the small family later that day, "I'd suggest Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. The dialysis will take around five hours every time, so be prepared for a long stay."

"And this is going to go on until you find Sam a kidney?" Bobby asked and the doctor nodded, "Unfortunately. Some people remain on dialysis for months or even years if they have to."

Sam's eyes widened at the thought of having to come to the hospital almost every day of the week for years to get his blood cleaned by some machine.

"We are doing our best to find Sam a donor," Dr. Greene assured them, "But with his uncommon blood type, it's a little more difficult."

"But after dialysis tomorrow," the doctor continued happily, "Sam will be able to return home."

SPN

"Sammy, eat something man," Dean said the next morning, only minutes away from his brother's dialysis appointment.

Sam sighed, "I can't, Dean… I'm scared."

He felt his brother's hand on his shoulder, "Don't be. Dr. Greene said it doesn't hurt if that's what you're worried about."

Sam nodded and reached out to touch his forearm. A nurse had come in earlier and taken the bandages off to reveal the still-healing fistula. He could feel the stitched incision where Dr. Patel had to cut his arm and there was a noticeable bulge beneath the skin from the where the newly connected artery and vein met.

"Talk to me, Sam," Dean said, "What're you thinking?"

"Nothing, I'm fine," Sam told Dean. He reached out and picked up a piece of toast from his breakfast tray.

SPN

John glanced at his watch as he sat across from Bobby in the cafeteria.

"Sam should be heading to start dialysis any minute now," he muttered and took a sip of his coffee.

"Than why don't you go down there?" Bobby asked the younger man but John shook his head stubbornly.

"Sam doesn't want me there," the father told him, "He'd rather just be with Dean."

Bobby gave his friend an exasperated, "You don't know that, Johnny."

The eldest Winchester remained adamant; "I know he doesn't want me there. Why would he?"

Bobby stood, "Well, I'm gonna head down there. The boy can use all the support he can get."

John sighed as the older hunter remained standing, waiting for him.

"I know you think Sam hates you," Bobby said, "But being there for him will show that you still care about him."

"You think?" John asked, tossing his unfinished coffee cup into the trash.

"All that boy wants right now is his Daddy and his brother," Bobby assured him.

SPN

"Is this your first time?" the nurse asked Sam as she prepared the dialysis machine.

Sam was sitting in a rather large, padded chair with what kind of looked like the lovechild of a washing machine and computer beside him. Dean sat on Sam's other side, in one of the chairs set out for relatives.

"Yeah," Sam answered quietly.

"Don't worry, Dear, it might feel a little uncomfortable at first but there's nothing to be afraid of," the nurse told him in a kindly tone as she prepared the needles and IV-like lines.

Dean watched as the nurse wiped Sam's forearm with an alcohol swab and inserted the first needle. Sam grimaced a little but he didn't complain.

Once the second needle was inserted, the nurse turned on the machine, typed on the small keypad and stepped back. The lines from the needles entered the machine; both the bright red of the blood beginning to flow through them and dialysis machine began to hum quietly.

"Do need a magazine or anything?" the nurse asked Dean but he shook his head, "No thanks. We'll be fine."

"Alright then," she said, "You can turn on the TV if you like."

Dean nodded and turned to his brother as the nurse left the room. He squeezed Sam's free hand and frowned when his brother wrapped his fingers tightly around his own. Sam's eyes were wide and his breathing began to pick up speed.

"Sam? What's wrong? Are you okay?" he asked concernedly, glancing at the dialysis machine.

Sam's jaw clenched tight and he swallowed for a moment before speaking.

"I can feel it, Dean," Sam said cryptically.

"Feel what? Is it painful?" Dean asked worriedly; the doctor had said it wouldn't hurt.

Sam shook his head before nodding slightly.

"I… a little…" Sam replied, struggling to describe the sensation.

Dean frowned and glanced down at the blood-red lines running from his brother's arm.

"Just take some deep breaths, Sammy," he suggested, releasing his sibling's hand to squeeze his neck instead, "It's okay. Deep breaths… in… out…in…out. That's it."

Sam did as he suggested and calmed down. He closed his eyes for a moment.

Dean turned in his seat when the door to the room opened and John and Bobby stepped inside.

"Hey, Dad and Bobby are here," he told Sam and his brother opened his eyes.

"How you doin' son?" Bobby asked as he approached them.

Sam shrugged, "I still have four hours and forty-five minutes to go so if I have to pee I'm holding it."

The grizzled hunter chuckled at Sam's attempt at humour and grabbed one of the chairs set out for guests.

John remained standing, arms crossed over his chest but his expression was sad. Dean met his father's eyes and was surprised to see guilt in them.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Dr. Greene appeared in the doorway and beckoned Bobby and John out of the room, most likely to review important information concerning Sam's health with them before he allowed his young patient to be released.

"How you doing?" Dean asked his brother as he turned his attention back to his sibling.

Sam shrugged, "Okay."

"Next time we'll bring along that book Rayann gave you so you can practice."

The younger teen nodded and closed his eyes, leaning his head back.

SPN

Randall Gorman was close. He knew it. The trail he was following was much clearer- brighter- than before. He crossed into Sioux Falls and followed the road to a dumpy-looking junkyard. The fence was open so Randall drove up the dirt driveway.

He wasn't sure exactly what he was going to do. He just needed to see the boy, make sure he was the one William Findlay had told him about.

Maybe he could claim he was having car trouble.

It seemed that would have to wait however. Both buildings on the property- a slightly dilapidated house and a garage- were clearly empty. No one was home.

Randall let his car idle for a moment. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

Should he wait for the boy to return? What if he didn't?

Randall was growing tired of driving all over the country to find some boy just because Findlay wanted to know his whereabouts.

Randall put his car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. As he retreated farther from the house he caught sight of the boy's trail again, leaving the property.

"I hope this is worth it," the man muttered wearily as he turned his car in the direction of downtown Sioux Falls and followed the trail to the hospital.

W

This wasn't good, Gorman thought.

The kid was in the hospital now?

Randall almost drove right past the building. He wanted to. He wanted to say 'screw it' and leave. He didn't owe Findlay anything and to tell the truth, people like him always creeped Randall out.

But something told the criminal he should go in, just go in and see.

So he found a parking spot and made his way inside.

He didn't know the boy's name but he did have a description from Findlay.

Also, once he picked up the kid's trial again, finding him would be easy.

SPN

"If Sam's condition changes in any way for the worse," Dr. Greene told the father and friend, "Bring him in right away."

John nodded, feeling overwhelmed.

Not only was Sam blind but also his remaining kidney was on the verge of failure. He would need to visit Sioux Falls General four times a week for five hours of dialysis and be on a strict diet that cut out salt, excess proteins and fluids.

"How long until you find Sam a kidney?" John asked. He couldn't help it. He felt as though Sam's new illness was somehow his fault. He should have been there for his youngest, should have been more attentive to his needs.

Dr. Greene sighed, "I'm not sure Mr. Winchester, really. It could be weeks or months… or, in the worst-case scenario, years."

John felt colour drain from his face. This wasn't going to be a quick fix. The reality of what was happening was really beginning to sink in for the first time since he had driven his sons to the Emergency room because Sam was spiking a fever.

"We are searching," Dr. Greene assured the father, "I promise you."

John nodded, "Ah, is that everything, Doctor?"

The physician nodded, "I'll sign your son's release forms and leave them at the Nurses' Station for you."

Dr. Greene shook both hunters' hands and made his way down the hall.

Bobby looked at the father for a moment.

"You look like you could use a coffee, Johnny."

The younger man looked towards the room where his sons were.

"They'll be alright for a half-hour or so," Bobby assured him.

"Alright," John said and followed his friend down to the cafeteria.

SPN

Randall Gorman watched the two men walk away from the room the boy was in.

One of them was the teen's father. The taller one with salt-and pepper hair and dark eyes had a gold nimbus around him, like an aura. Randall was sure the boy he sought would have one that looked almost exactly like this one too.

Walking forward casually, Randall went to the door and opened it.

SPN

Dean looked up, expecting his Dad and Bobby to be standing there but instead it was a stranger.

Sam opened his eyes at the sound of the door opening, "Dad?"

"Sorry," the man said, "Wrong room."

Dean eyed the man; though not suspicious- there were lots of random people at hospitals- he was surprised.

The guy was wearing blue jeans and running shoes that had seen better days. He also had on a plain grey t-shirt and blue baseball cap. He had plain features, the kind that were easily forgotten. Nothing at all stuck out about the man.

"No problem," Dean muttered, "Are you looking for someone?"

The man shrugged, "My wife's having a baby. She's been in labour for a couple of hours now and I'm just waiting."

Why wouldn't the guy be down at the maternity ward then, Dean wondered but didn't question him.

"Oh, congratulations," he said, instead.

"Thanks," the stranger said and closed the door.

Dean looked at his brother.

"That was weird," he muttered and Sam nodded.

SPN

Randall wiped a hand over his face and headed down the hallway.

He was not expecting that.

The poor kid was a mess!

Being on a dialysis machine meant that his kidneys were going for a shit and when he'd opened his eyes and Randall saw they were white…

He was blind.

What the hell had they done to him at Dunhill?

Clearly William Findlay didn't know everything that had gone on in the North Hall.

Randall didn't know what he should do. He didn't know what Findlay wanted the boy for but he sure it wasn't to apologize for what had been done to him.

This whole thing seemed like it was going to end badly for the teen.

Making up his mind quickly, Randall decided that Findlay needn't know he'd found the teen. In fact, Randall decided that he was not going to contact the former director of the Dunhill Psychiatric Hospital again; Findlay was not likely to be acquitted for his crimes anyway, the evidence against him was too damning.

Just leave, Gorman told himself, there's nothing left for you to do here.

But that wasn't exactly true.

The criminal glanced down the hallway and saw the thin gold thread trailing along the worn tile floor.

Sighing and shaking his head, Randall followed it, wondering what had happened to make him go so soft.

SPN

The nurse smiled kindly at Sam- despite the fact that he could not see her- and carefully removed the IV needles from his arm.

She quickly placed cotton balls on the dual sites and asked Dean to hold them down so she could put medical tape over them.

Sam looked relieved just to be able to get away from the dialysis machine.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked as the nurse gathered up the materials, unhooking the IV lines from the machine and putting them and the sharps into the small yellow Bio-Hazardous Waste bin on the wall.

"Yeah," he muttered, "Do I have to use the wheelchair?"

Dean shook his head, "Nah, you're a free man. No more wheelchairs for you."

Sam smiled slightly and Dean pressed his cane into his hand.

"Let's go find Dad and Bobby and get the hell out of here," Dean announced and Sam nodded.

The two brothers walked close together, Sam tapping the cane in front of him and listening carefully to the sound it made against the tiled floor.

"You're getting pretty good at that, you know?" Dean complimented. Sam hadn't had much chance to use his cane while in the hospital but he managed to keep up with Dean as they walked, moving in a straight line down the hallway.

Sam shrugged, blushing slightly.

"Son! How're you feeling?" Bobby announced as he and John turned the corner, just leaving the cafeteria.

Sam shrugged, "Okay, I guess."

"He's fantastic," Dean supplied, "He gets to go home."

The small family made their way down the hallway towards the exit, glad to be finally leaving but also knowing that they would have to return soon.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

Sam sank onto Bobby's couch with a sigh. It was so good to be back home.

He felt the tension melt away as he leaned against the soft, worn cushions and heard Dean turn on the television.

"How are you feeling, Sam?" John asked, surprising the young man.

"Fine," he answered.

"Dad, we just got back," Dean's voice spoke up, "He's not going to break."

"Want a beer, Johnny?" Bobby asked and Sam heard his father move into the kitchen.

"You want something to drink?" Dean asked Sam but the younger brother shook his head, "I'm okay."

He sighed when he heard Dean move into the kitchen and return, opening a can of beer.

"Don't worry Sammy, once you get your new kidney you can drink all the booze you want," Dean assured him.

The eighteen-year old shook his head, "Where's Rayann's book? I think I want to practice a little bit."

SPN

William Edwin Findlay, former director of the Dunhill Psychiatric Hospital in Marshalltown, Iowa did not feel confident.

He was forced to sit in the courtroom, say nothing and watch the evidence against him pile higher and higher.

His lawyer seemed to know they were going to lose and tried his best to prolong his client's judgment. He called recesses, cried 'objection!' to everything the prosecutor said. But nothing helped. The jury was not sympathetic to him at all. Findlay's lawyer could not make him seem a victim as much as the young men and women who had been abducted and held at the North Hall.

William Findlay grabbed his lawyers, tie and drew him close, "Do something!"

The man, his eyes wide, pulled away from his client, "There is just too much going against you, Will. I can force the jury to believe you had nothing to do with what Arthur Bates was doing. They found the kids' files in your office, for God's sake!"

Findlay's blue eyes narrowed, "You're fired."

SPN

Deacon Kaylor smiled as he saw William Findlay become more and more anxious. The man knew he was losing. And how could he not?

The prosecutor brought in Findlay's former employees- orderlies and technicians and drivers- and police officers who were first on the scene when Deacon himself had called in the Feds, to testify against him.

Although none of the youth who had been at Dunhill were put on the witness' stand- they were in protective custody in case Findlay had other friends in the Black Market who might try and abduct them again- the picture the prosecutor painted was enough.

Findlay was not going to escape justice.

SPN

Sam laced his fingers together and cracked the knuckles.

"Wanna take a break?" Dean asked, "You've been at that for hours?"

The younger brother shook his head, "I've almost got it."

"Okay," Dean replied, "If you're sure."

Sam nodded and began concentrating once more on the raised dots of Braille that made up the words in Maurice Sendak's Where The Wild Things Are.

SPN

"William Edwin Findlay, do you have anything to say?" Judge Peters asked.

The former director of the Dunhill Psychiatric Hospital fiddled with the lapels of his suit for a moment before standing, "I am also the victim here. Dr. Arthur Bates blackmailed me, your Honour, I lived in fear that he might harm me and my family if I did not allow him to do what he wished. I want the jury to know that an innocent man stands before them today."

Findlay turned around to face the jury, many of whom looked as though they did not believe him for an instant, before taking his seat again.

"The trial will convene once more once a verdict has been reached," Judge Peters hit the gavel once and court was adjourned for the time being

SPN

John frowned slightly when his cell phone rang in his pocket and he picked it up.

"Who'd be calling?" Bobby asked and the father shrugged, "Dunno."

"Hello?" John asked and Deacon Kaylor's familiar voice came on the line.

"William Findlay, the asshole who ran Dunhill," he said without preamble, "Just got a hundred years with no chance of parole for fifty years. Thought you'd like to know."

John smiled and raised his beer can in salute.

"How's Sam doing anyway?" Deacon asked.

"Alright," John replied, his smile disappearing, "His kidney's failed. Has to be on dialysis until the doctors can find him a new one."

"Damn," the police officer swore.

"They're pretty confident that they find one eventually," John said, "For now we just have to wait."

"I'm sure Sam will get one in no time," Deacon agreed.

"Yeah," John muttered.

"Listen, I'll call you some other time," the officer said, "I've gotta go."

"Thanks for the news; I owe you one, Deke," John told his friend and closed his cell.

"What was all that about?" Bobby asked before taking a drink of his beer.

"The mastermind behind Dunhill's going to be in jail for a long, long time," John told his friend.

"Good," Bobby commented, "Pity though that we couldn't have dealt with him ourselves."

John chuckled a little and drained his beer, "You want another one?"

Bobby nodded and John headed inside; the two men had moved out to the porch to give the brothers some privacy while Sam practiced reading Braille.

John glanced at his sons sitting at the coffee table in the living room, large smiles on their faces.

"How's it going?"

Dean looked up and grinned, "Sam can read this book front and back!"

John returned the gesture, "That's great!"

Sam raised his head and gave his father a tentative smile.

John approached the boys and put a hand on his youngest's shoulder, "I'm proud of you, Son."

The father was shocked to see tears form in Sam's milky eyes but he pretended not to notice.

"Thanks, Dad."

John turned quickly and went about his business, grabbing a couple of beers for himself and Bobby.

As he left the house, he heard Sam and Dean- their heads together- whispering, as they had been wont to do when they were younger and didn't want their father to know what they were talking about.

SPN

It hadn't been difficult at all for Randall to find out information on the kid; Sam Winchester.

All he had to do was follow the boy's trail to his room and take a peek at his chart.

A nurse stepped into the room, carrying clean linens, "I'm sorry, are you looking for someone?"

Gorman shook his head, "No, I'm just wondering whom I should talk to about donating a kidney to this boy."

The nurse looked at him in disbelief for a moment, "That would be the patient's physician, Dr. Greene. I can contact him for you."

"Thank you," Randall smiled, trying to let her know he wasn't a psychopath.

She clearly thought he was some lunatic. Who randomly walks into a stranger's hospital room, looks at their medical charts and declares a desire to help them in such a fashion as donating a body part?

The nurse though, called the doctor through the PA system and told Randall that the man would be down soon.

"Do you know him?" The nurse asked as she began changing the sheets.

"Yes," Gorman answered, "We're acquaintances."

That seemed to ease the woman's nerves somewhat but she watched him carefully as she worked, looking much relieved when Dr. Greene appeared and took the man out of the room to discuss his intentions in a more private setting.

SPN

"I don't know about this, Dean," Sam said as he followed his brother outside.

"It'll be fine, Sammy," the older sibling encouraged, "I'll be right beside you the whole time."

Dean smiled at his father and Bobby as he and Sam walked past, winking conspiratorially.

"What're you up to?" Bobby asked suspiciously.

"Come with us and find out," Dean offered.

Both John and Bobby stood, leaving their beers, and followed the two younger men as they approached the Impala.

Dean nodded, satisfied, when he saw that the driveway was clear and he opened the driver's side door, lifting Sam's hand to rest on its top.

"Hold on, Dean," John stepped in and stared at his eldest.

"You're not going to do what I think you're about to," the father asked worriedly as Sam slowly sat down in the driver's seat and found the steering wheel.

Dean nodded and smiled, "I want to know if Sammy can drive."

John opened his mouth in disbelief.

"Are you sure that's a good idea," he asked, "Dean, he's blind."

"I know," his eldest said, "But I'll be beside him the entire time. We won't even go far and if I don't think Sam can handle it, I'll take over. Okay?"

John exchanged a look with Bobby.

"I'm interested to see if the boy c'n do it," the grizzled hunter said, not helping his friend in the least.

"So this is what you two were whispering about earlier. Just… be careful," John said nervously.

Dean nodded and walked around the front of the car to the passenger's side.

"Ready to do this?" he asked and slipped his seatbelt on.

Sam nodded and listened as Dean put the key in the ignition and the Impala roared to life.

"Seatbelt," Dean said and Sam fumbled for a moment for the strap before finding it and bringing it down to the clasp by his hip.

"Just back up nice and slow," Dean instructed, "I'll be your eyes."

Sam gripped the wheel tightly, a bead of sweat dripped down his nose and he blinked uselessly against the white fog in front of his eyes.

"You've done this a hundred times," Dean encouraged and Sam put his foot lightly down on the gas, the car already in reverse.

The eighteen-year old could hear the Chevy's tires crunching over the gravel of the driveway as it slowly inched backwards.

"Keep going, you're doing great," Dean told him and Sam smiled.

The younger sibling pressed his foot a little harder on the gas, causing the Chevy to surge backwards for a moment before Sam quickly touched the break.

"It's okay," Dean's voice said and Sam felt his brother's hand over his own on the steering wheel.

"Go on, Sammy," Dean said and Sam put his foot back on the gas pedal again, "We're not even at the end of the driveway yet."

SPN

Bobby shook his head as he and John watched the Impala creep closer and closer to the end of the driveway.

"That boy is something else," he commented, slapping John on the shoulder.

The father nodded, amazed at his eldest's patience and determination. A lump formed in John's throat and his eyes stung a bit but he ignored them. Dean certainly didn't get his nurturing attitude from him that was for sure. No, the twenty-two year old definitely took after his mother in that regard.

John smiled as Dean pressed down on the Impala's horn and shouted gleefully, celebrating the fact that he and Sam had made it to the Salvage Yard's gate.

He watched as Dean got out of the car and made his way to the driver's side; Sam apparently having had enough excitement for the moment. The eighteen-year old slid across the bucket seats to the passenger's side and Dean took the driver's.

John couldn't help but grin just as widely as his sons as they exited the car, now back in its original parking spot.

"Did you see that, Dad? Sam was great!" Dean exclaimed, one hand on his brother's shoulder.

"That was pretty impressive Sam," John praised and the younger man bowed his head.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"Let's head inside," Bobby suggested, "I don't know about y'all but I'm starved."

Sam and Dean walked ahead of the two older men, Bobby keeping pace with the brothers for a moment to encourage them before dropping behind with John.

"Everything Sam does boosts his confidence," Bobby told John quietly, "Even if he can't drive the Impala again, just knowing that he got it that far…"

John nodded, extremely proud of both his boys for the first time in what felt like ages.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

"Are you certain you want to do this, Mr. Gorman?" Dr. Greene asked the man sitting across from him in his office.

"Yes," Randall said, "I am sure."

Dr. Greene nodded, "If everything goes well and you are indeed a compatible match to Sam Winchester you will be doing a very selfless act of kindness."

Randall tilted his head.

"It is rare non-family members volunteer for living donation of organs," Dr. Greene explained.

"Ah," Gorman said, understanding, "I just want to do good for someone who deserves it. I'd heard about the situation at Dunhill and wanted to help out."

The doctor nodded, "Before you can even be considered we need to run a few tests. A blood test, for one, to make sure that you're the same type as Mr. Winchester and a nucleic acid test to detect HIV or Hepatitis C."

The doctor looked at the man somewhat apologetically as he described the reason for the last test but explained that it was necessary. Randall told the doctor that he was willing to do the tests.

Dr. Greene handed him a stack of forms that he was required to fill out and Randall set to work, determined to help the young man he had never even spoken to.

SPN

"What's for dinner?" Dean asked as his stomach rumbled.

Bobby looked up from the head of lettuce he was carefully cutting, "Roast chicken and salad."

Dean made a face, "That's it? No chili? No steak? What's with the girl food, Bobby?"

John, sitting at the kitchen table to keep his friend company looked at his eldest, "Sam's on a strict diet. No excess salt or fluid and minimal protein. Bobby suggested that it didn't really make sense to prepare two separate meals so we're going to eat what Sam has to eat."

Dean stared at his father; surprised that John wasn't forgoing the near-vegetarian meal for a heartier substitute.

"We're all going to eat it?" Dean asked and John nodded.

The young man nodded, "Okay."

John returned the gesture and turned to speak to Bobby.

"One question though," Dean interrupted, "Who are you and what have you done with my Dad?"

John looked at Dean, his expression hurt. Bobby turned around, plastic knife in hand, "What, son?"

Dean took a breath, "Not that I'm complaining or anything but… before we knew about Sam's kidney, Dad, you were ready to bail. What changed?"

John sighed and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.

"Sam's worse. That's what. Before… he was blind and yeah, that's shitty but he could get along fine with some practice… now… he can't go on the road whether I want him to or not. He may be on dialysis for a long time… he could get very sick and if I wasn't with him… Well, let's just say that I've smartened up a bit, okay?"

Dean nodded; his lips pursed but accepted his father's answer.

"I understand," he told John; and he did, sort of, "Just do one thing, alright?"

"Anything," the father replied, leaning forward slightly.

"Don't you ever act like that again," Dean said coldly, "Or I will personally kick your ass."

With that said, the twenty-two year old left the kitchen.

John sat stunned for a moment before looking at Bobby.

"You wanna put the chicken in the pan?" the grizzled hunter asked, ignoring the father's astonished expression.

SPN

Sam's fingers flew over the raised dots of Braille with a new confidence. He'd almost begged Dean to use the label-maker Rayann had given Bobby to print out Braille labels for every item in the house within reach- from the coffee table to the older hunter's desk, the bookshelf, closet and more- and now was memorizing the words for them, hand trailing across the markers Dean had placed around the first floor.

"You want to take a break, Sammy?" Dean's voice asked from behind him, "You're gonna get blisters if you keep that up."

Sam chuckled, dropping his hand- the other gripping the handle of his cane- and turned.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked as Sam approached, judging the distance by the sound of his older brother's voice.

"Great," Sam replied and he could almost hear Dean's eyebrow rise.

"Great? Huh, maybe I should try dialysis," he commented.

Sam smirked.

"C'mon," Dean said and Sam felt his brother's hand on his arm, "Bobby's making something special for supper."

SPN

Randall Gorman slipped his jacket off and onto the back of a rickety, slightly sticky motel room chair.

It would take a couple of days for the blood work to come back so he had only time to kill.

He sat down on the end of his bed- a black and red tartan blanket covering the white sheets- and turned on the television.

The news came on- the usual tales of doom and gloom- and Randall quickly changed the station. Leaning back on his elbows, he settled into watching some sappy movie on the Hallmark channel.

His mind however, drifted.

He wasn't a bad guy, no, as far as bad guys went he was pretty mild in comparison.

Sure he did jobs for shady people and organizations but he'd never killed anyone. He was certain that at least some of the people he'd tracked down were dead but that wasn't his fault, now was it?

But karma was a bitch and Randall decided he should get all the Brownie Points while he still could.

It wasn't only that, though, he'd seen the North Hall of Dunhill Psychiatric, had sensed the emotions of the people who'd been kept there for the greed of others and he felt compelled to do something about it.

He might not be able to help all of the kids who'd ended up been hurt by Findlay and his goons but he if he could help one- Sam Winchester- then maybe that would be enough.

Randall smiled suddenly; thinking of the much-used quote that stated that with great power comes great responsibility.

When he was a kid he never imagined he would use his power- his ability- to potentially ruin peoples lives. When he was a kid he was just happy that he'd been crowned the champion of hide-and-seek among his friends.

And now what was he doing? Tracking down idiots hiding from the Mob and cheating spouses?

Yeah, he'd really make his mother proud if she could see him now.

So, deciding to be selfless- altruistic- for one moment in his life, Randall had decided to donate his kidney. After all, the average person could live quite comfortably with only one kidney.

And something about Sam Winchester had struck Randall. He didn't know what it was but he knew he'd be a fool to ignore

SPN

"Sam!" Dean ran up the stairs, taking two at a time when he heard the loud crash come from the bathroom.

"Sammy!" He threw open the door without knocking and stared at his brother sprawled out on the floor, the plastic shower curtain tangled around him and the spray of hot water spilling over the tub and onto the floor.

"Sammy," Dean breathed and reached down to help his brother up, "What happened?"

He sat Sam on the closed toilet lid and brushed his wet bangs from his brow, grimacing at the cut above his eyebrow.

"Jesus Sam," Dean murmured and grabbed a towel to wrap around his sibling's shoulders.

"I'm okay, Dean," Sam muttered, raking his hair back from his forehead, "I just slipped."

"I can tell," the older sibling replied.

"Dean? Is everything alright?" John's voice coming from the bottom of the stairs startled both brothers, Dean turned to the door, hoping their father wouldn't enter the room.

"Yeah! We're okay!" Dean called and he listened as John's footsteps moved away.

"Okay," Dean turned back to his brother, "Let's get you cleaned up and dressed."

He handed Sam his clothes- a pair of old sweatpants and a t-shirt to sleep in- and grabbed the First Aid kit Bobby kept under the sink.

Carefully, once Sam was changed into his clothes, he dabbed at the cut on his brother's brow with a piece of gauze.

"I don't think it'll need stitches," Dean told his brother, "It's already stopped bleeding."

Sam smiled slightly, "Sorry for…"

"Hey, don't worry about it," Dean assured him, "It was an accident."

Sam nodded, blushing slightly with embarrassment.

"Why don't you call it an early night?" Dean suggested, "You've had a big day."

Sam chuckled, "Yeah, first ever dialysis appointment and finally making it home after all that time in the hospital; exhausting."

Dean breathed a laugh and squeezed his brother's shoulder.

Sam stood and frowned.

"Sorry for the-" he began but Dean interrupted, shaking his head, "Don't worry about it. I'll clean this up."

The brothers headed down the hallway to the bedroom and Dean let Sam go the rest of the way on his own. Sam didn't even need his cane, he knew where everything in the bedroom was and counted the steps it would take to get from the doorway to his bed.

Dean watched as Sam reached down and grabbed the sheets, pulling them back before climbing onto the mattress and searching for the blankets a moment before he found them and pulled them up.

"Good night, Sammy," Dean called and his brother muttered a response, already falling asleep.

W

"What happened?" John asked, looking up as Dean stepped into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

"Sam fell in the shower," he replied and both Bobby's and John's eyebrows raised in surprised.

"He alright?" The grizzled hunter asked, concerned.

Dean nodded and took a drink of his beer, "He has a cut on his forehead but other than that he's fine as paint."

"Is he coming down?" John asked.

Dean shook his head, "I sent him to bed. He's beat."

John glanced at the clock on the stove, "It's only seven o'clock."

His eldest son shrugged, "Sam needed it. I think that dialysis did a number on him."

"He should be better tomorrow," Bobby added.

John looked up at Dean and smiled hesitantly.

His son met his gaze steadily and nodded, "He'll be alright."


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

Sam ran his fingers over the spines of the books, frowning as he concentrated on understanding the Braille titles.

"Do you just want me to tell you what they are?" Dean asked but Sam shook his head, "No thanks. I got it."

They were in the town's old, stuffy library. Sam had wanted to pick up more reading material, to practice and Bobby had informed that the Sioux Falls Library had a small collection of books in Braille.

"This one," Sam announced with confidence and pulled it off the shelf.

"What is it?" Dean asked, only seeing a white cover page with raised dots.

"Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone," Sam answered.

He heard Dean snort, "Harry Potter? Really? Aren't you a little old for that?"

Sam frowned at his brother, "These books are for kids and adults, Dean. Besides, a novel would be good practice for me."

"Okay," his brother replied, "If that's the one you want."

"Are you going to take anything out?" Sam asked curiously.

"Me? Read? Only the menus at diners, Sammy, you know that," Dean joked and Sam laughed along with him.

SPN

Dean glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye. Sam had the novel open on his lap, the fingers of his right hand running over the raised dots.

"Hey Sammy?" he asked and Sam raised his head a little to show he was listening.

"Yeah?"

"You want to get something to eat?" Dean asked. Sam had been feeling more and more sure of himself since returning home from the hospital- he'd gotten the knack of reading Braille, he could still drive the Impala (albeit with Dean's help)- and Dean wanted to push the limits just an inch more.

"You mean at a restaurant?" Sam asked, now starting straight ahead.

"Sure," Dean replied, trying to sound casually about it, "I'm getting hungry and Dad and Bobby aren't expecting us back anytime soon, you know?"

Sam's mouth turned down into a frown.

"I don't know, Dean," he muttered.

"Hey, if you don't want to, that's fine," the twenty-two year old said, disappointed, "We'll go back to Bobby's and have something there."

Dean left it at that for a moment and Sam went back to reading.

"I just thought you'd be ready."

Sam raised his head again turning so that his milky eyes were staring at Dean.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, insulted.

Dean shook his head even though Sam wouldn't be able to see it, "No, no, you want to go back to the Salvage Yard."

"Dean," Sam growled, "What do you mean you thought I'd be ready?"

Dean grinned; he knew he'd be able to trick Sam.

"Eating at a restaurant isn't much different than eating at home, is it?" Dean asked, "And I'm sure it would really impress Rayann if she knew you were able to all this stuff on your own, before she could get around to it herself."

Sam bit his lip, thinking.

"Okay," he answered finally, "But this is serious, Dean. No jokes. Promise?"

Dean sighed, "I'll be on my best behaviour. Don't worry, I won't embarrass you."

He pulled into the parking lot of a diner that was close by, one that he'd never been to and turned off the Impala's engine.

Getting out of the car, Dean waited as Sam unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the door and stepped out, cane gripped tightly in his hand.

Dean resisted the urge to reach out and take his brother's elbow even though he knew Sam would be fine so instead he fell into step beside him.

"There's a step," Dean told his brother and Sam tapped the end of the cane against the curb.

"Okay, got it," Sam muttered, "Thanks."

Dean held the door open for Sam, allowing him to go inside first and then he smiled at the petite blonde girl waiting for them.

"Two?" She asked, grabbing a menu from the shelf in the podium she was standing behind.

The girl looked at Sam, bent down and pulled out a second menu, this one blank except for the familiar raised dots of Braille.

Dean raised an eyebrow at the sight of it. The waitress just smiled.

The twenty-two year old was impressed. He knew that most public places had to be wheelchair accessible but he didn't know about the Braille menus for the blind. He wondered if every restaurant had them or if it was just this diner.

"I'll show you to your seats," the waitress said and Dean took the lead, this time grabbing his brother's elbow.

They stopped in front of a booth and sat down, Sam folding the cane and setting it down on the seat beside him.

"Can I start you off with drinks?" the waitress said and set out the menus.

"Oh… uh… I don't need-" Sam began but then Dean reached out and grabbed his brother's wrist, setting his hand down on the menu.

"Oh!" Sam exclaimed, "This is Braille?"

The waitress nodded, "The owner's wife has glaucoma and he had about a half-dozen of the menus in Braille for her and the customers who need them."

Sam smiled and Dean returned the gesture.

"Can I get a beer?" he asked the girl.

"Sammy, what do you want?" Dean asked and Sam said he'd like water.

The waitress nodded and walked away, her footsteps fading as she returned to the front of the diner.

Sam leaned forward, "Did you know about this?"

His hand rested on the Braille menu, telling Dean that was what he was talking about.

"No," Dean answered truthfully, "I'm just as surprised as you. I was all prepared to read the menu to you and everything."

Sam sat back and opened his menu. Dean smiled and flipped through his until he found the section with burgers.

W

Dean already knew what he wanted. But Sam was still reading.

The waitress had returned with their drinks and asked if they were ready; Dean told her he'd wait for his brother.

"C'mon Sam," Dean groaned playfully, "It's a menu, not an encyclopedia."

Sam raised his head, looking sheepish.

"I don't know some of these words yet," he muttered, "I…uh… have to spell them out before I can actually read them…"

Dean could have kicked himself. They'd been so focused on learning the Braille words for objects around the house- pieces of furniture- that he'd never even thought to label food items for his brother.

"Sorry, Sammy," he murmured apologetically, "Do you want me to help?"

Sam sighed and nodded, closing the menu.

"They have lots of sandwiches," Dean told him, opening his own menu again.

SPN

John frowned when his phone rang in his pocket. Grumbling slightly at the annoyance, he answered it.

"Yeah?"

"Hello to you too, Winchester," Ellen Harvelle's voice said dryly.

John sat straight up, causing Bobby to look at him, perplexed.

"Ellen! Why are you calling? Is something wrong?" John asked, forgetting that the woman was supposed to hate him.

"I'll tell you what's wrong, John," she replied, "You and the boys haven't been to visit."

"What?" the father asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"You said you'd let us know how Sam's doing," Ellen reminded him, "And personally, I'd like a little more than a verbal update. Come see us."

John was speechless. Ellen Harvelle hated him and now she was demanding that he travel to the Roadhouse for a visit?

"Uh… we can't just now, Ellen," he replied, scratching the back of his head nervously.

"And why not?" she replied sassily.

"Sam… he's on dialysis… he can't travel…"

The woman didn't speak for a long time.

"Ellen? Are you there?" John asked, wondering if the woman had left the phone.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY SOMETHING?!" John jumped, holding the phone away from his ear.

"I- I'm sorry," John spluttered, stunned at Ellen's reaction, "I didn't know it meant that much to you."

"We've all been waiting to hear from you, John, with good news and now when I have to call you tell me that that sweet boy's sick!" the woman fumed and John turned beet red with embarrassment.

"Who's waiting?" John squeaked, yes, actually squeaked and prepared himself for another tirade.

"Ash and myself for one," Ellen snapped, "But have you forgotten that Joshua and Caleb also helped rescue your son? They're always asking me about him when they come in here but I can't tell them anything because I don't know."

"Why didn't they call themselves, if they're so concerned about Sam?" John asked, starting to get angry now.

"Because they know what your like," Ellen replied, "They thought it best if they waited for you to call, like you said you would."

John heaved an exasperated sigh, "Jesus… can't they do anything on their own? Tell them that Sam's on dialysis but the doctor is confident that they'll find him a kidney soon? Okay?"

Ellen harrumphed but told John she would relay the message.

"And when Sam's ready to travel," she finished, before ending the call, "Come to the Roadhouse."

John stared at the phone for a long moment before looking at Bobby.

"Why does it feel like my friends are a bunch of children instead of hunters?"

Bobby just chuckled and returned to the book he was reading.

SPN

"More coffee?" the waitress asked and Randall nodded.

He raised the cup to his lips and drank, his eyes not leaving the two Winchesters who were sitting a few booths ahead of him.

He had only gone out for a bite of lunch and been extremely surprised when the brothers entered the diner a few minutes after he had.

The older brother- Dean, Gorman thought his name was- had his back to Randall and Sam sat facing him.

The young man stuck out like a sore thumb. Although Dean was a handsome youth and likely caught the eye of every girl in the diner, Sam was the one drawing surreptitious attention.

Tall and thin, with short hair and milky eyes, Sam was very out of place in the cheery diner.

His attitude, happy and lighthearted, seemed to undermine his appearance. Although clearly sick, Sam made the other patrons forget that when he burst out laughing at something his brother said, not letting the trauma he had gone through show.

At least not in this public place.

Gorman wondered if he should go over and say hello but then thought better of it. He did not want to become too familiar with the brothers.

Instead, he was content just to sit and watch.

SPN

Sam, fully aware of his dietary restrictions, ordered a garden salad for lunch.

Dean stared at his brother's leafy meal and felt bad that he got to eat whatever he wanted while Sam was forced to be careful about what he put into his mouth.

"You could have had a sandwich," Dean told him, "You don't have to stick to rabbit food, you know."

Sam shrugged and picked at his salad.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Dean asked, concerned at Sam's quiet.

"Yeah," he replied, "I'm okay."

Dean nodded, "Maybe you'll actually turn into a rabbit if you eat enough greens."

Sam actually laughed out loud at that and Dean smiled, glad that a simple, silly comment could bring his brother such joy.

"If I'm a rabbit," Sam smirked, "Than you're a pig."

"Hey!" Dean replied, only pretending to be insulted.

Sam just chuckled, bringing a forkful of lettuce to his mouth and chewing it with exaggerated pleasure.

Dean shook his head and started in on his burger.

W

"You boys were sure at the library for a long time," Bobby greeted as Sam and Dean entered the house.

Dean smiled, "We stopped to have lunch."

Bobby raised his eyebrow, "You ate out?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, "The diner had menus in Braille."

"So it went well?" the grizzled hunter asked and both Winchesters nodded.

"Hm," Bobby replied, "Looks like you might not need Rayann's help for much longer."

Sam's expression looked stricken for a minute.

"I know she said I should just concentrate on getting better but-" he began but Bobby interrupted him.

"I don't mean we're going to give her the sack right now, Son. She will probably have a lot more to show you that we just can't."

Sam relaxed visibly and Dean smirked.

"Aww does Sammy have a crush?"

The eighteen-year old turned his head in the direction of Dean's voice, face going red.

"I do not!"

Dean's grin grew wider. This was adorable!

"Sure," he commented in an off-hand manner, "That's why your face looks like a tomato."

"I don't have a crush on her, Dean!" Sam snapped.

"Okay, okay, calm down," the twenty-two year old had decided that enough was enough, "I'm just kidding."

Sam narrowed his unseeing eyes at him for a moment before turning away, "I'm going to read."

"She does have a nice ass though," Dean called after his brother and saw Sam's shoulders hunch.

Bobby raised an eyebrow at him as the bedroom door slammed behind Sam.

"What? It's a joke," Dean said, "Sam knows I'm kidding."

Bobby just shook his head; "We'll probably not see him for a few hours now. Good going, Dean."

The younger man scoffed and flapped his hand, "He'll be fine."'

Glancing around the living room, Dean noticed they were missing a member of their small family.

"Where's Dad?"

"Out back," Bobby answered, "In the garage, I think."

Dean nodded and headed outside.

SPN

Sam set his cane on the bed closest to the door and sighed. He raised his free hand and rubbed the scabbed-over cut above his eyebrow.

He knew Dean had just been fooling around but the comment about Rayann wasn't what was really bothering Sam.

Dean's words had triggered a thought, a rather depressing one, in Sam.

What if no girl wanted to be with him? What if they were all turned off by his eyes? By the fact that he was blind?

He knew he was being stupid and any girl with any integrity inside would look past his disability.

Besides, he really shouldn't be thinking about girlfriends right now. He needed to focus on becoming independent.

Still, the idea of being alone forever hurt.

Breathing out audibly, Sam chastised himself.

"Get a grip," he muttered, "You know life's no Hollywood movie but if there is a girl out there for me I'll find her."

Pushing the thoughts of relationships- future or otherwise- from his mind, Sam opened the book he'd borrowed from the library and sat down on the bed.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Dean found his father, not in the garage, as Bobby had thought but sitting on the rickety old picnic table at the back of the house, among the overgrown grass and cracked cement of the worn-out patio that barely saw the old hunter anymore.

"Hey," the son greeted quietly.

John looked up and gestured to the rough wooden seat, "Want to sit?"

Dean nodded and took the offered seat, the picnic table creaking underneath the combined weight of the hunters.

"How's Sam?" John asked, not looking at Dean but at the small copse of trees at the edge of Bobby's property where he had often taken his sons when they were younger to practice shooting at bean cans and beer bottles.

"He's good," Dean answered, "He's doing great, considering everything he's been through."

John nodded.

"Sammy's as stubborn as they come," Dean continued, "He'll do just fine until they find him a kidney."

Again John nodded.

"What about you?" Dean ventured, "How are you holding up?"

The father shrugged, "Oh, I'm alright. I'm just worried about your brother. You know Sam, if something bad is going to happen, it'll be him it happens to."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "But maybe it will be different. Maybe things will be okay for him now."

John looked up at his eldest, "I hope so."

Dean, not knowing what else to say, stood and stretched.

"You want a beer or anything?" he asked his father and John shook his head, "Nah, I'm good."

Dean shrugged and left his father to his thoughts.

It was odd seeing John so concerned about Sam's welfare when only a few days ago he was ready to leave him at Bobby's and continue hunting. The news of Sam's illness must have hit John hard. He was realizing that this was something they couldn't just put a Band-Aid on and it would go away.

Dean was grateful for the new change in his father. He hated being the one in the middle, trying not to be the one to pick sides and he was sure Sam appreciated the release of tension between himself and John as well.

Sam didn't need to be butting heads with his father right now anyway.

Dean made his way to the front of the house and headed back inside.

Bobby glanced up, "You find yer Daddy?"

"Yeah," Dean told him.

Bobby nodded and continued reading.

"I'm going to check up on Sam."

SPN

Sam raised his head when he heard footsteps approaching.

"Did I scare you? Sorry," Dean's voice apologized and Sam shook his head.

"What's up?" he asked and listened as his brother stepped into the room.

"Nothing really," Dean answered, "I was talking to Dad and-"

Sam felt his shoulders tense automatically and the mattress beside him dipped as Dean sat.

"Hey," his brother murmured, "Dad's okay now. You know that; whatever was going on with him earlier, it's out of his system."

Sam nodded.

"What I was going to say," Dean continued, "Was that I think you should talk to Dad."

Sam stared blindly at him, eyes wide.

"Just… hear me out," Dean said, "You've barely spoken to each other since… since you left for school. And Dad's different. We both know it. He's not going to be an asshole like before."

Sam fiddled with a page of his book, thinking.

"Sam," Dean's voice startled him a little, "C'mon, you were brave enough to go out on your own, to tell us you were leaving to go to Stanford and now you're afraid to talk to Dad?"

Sam gave a wry smile.

"Okay," he said and stood, setting the book down on the bed and picking up his cane.

He felt Dean's eyes on him as he walked out of the room and hoped that his brother was right and John had indeed changed and it wasn't just some cruel façade.

W

"Dad?" Sam called as his sneaker-clad feet touched the grass where the driveway ended and the lawn began, "Dad? Are you out here?"

Sam felt silly for being nervous, he knew where he was, he had walked around Bobby's house dozens of times since he'd gotten his cane but that didn't matter.

"Dad?" Sam called again. Maybe he wasn't out here anymore.

"Sam? What are you doing out here?" John's voice asked from somewhere ahead of him and the eighteen-year old relaxed somewhat.

"Dean said you were here and I… uh… I wanted to talk with you. Can we talk?"

John didn't respond for a moment and Sam wondered if his father was going to tell him to go back inside.

"Sure," he answered, "Uh… do you need help?"

Sam shook his head but he felt his father reached out to guide him in the right direction.

He sat down on the old, rickety picnic table and John took a seat beside him.

"You're doing really well," John said, "Getting around pretty good by yourself."

Sam nodded, "Yeah, this really helps."

He indicated the cane he still held.

"Sam… I want you to know… well…" John began but then hesitated.

"I'm sorry for acting like such a bastard earlier," he apologized, "I… I don't know what I was thinking."

Sam didn't say anything; he just listened.

"This… it's all new to me too and I was trying to go about things the wrong way," John continued.

Sam heard his father breathe a sigh, "If you need to stay here I don't mind and if you need Rayann Muir's help for three months, six months, or a year, I accept that."

Sam smiled slightly but still remained silent.

"And… if you want to come on the road with Dean and I than you can do that to," John said, "I just… I don't want you to be miserable. That's all."

"I know, Dad," Sam finally spoke, his tone soft.

"I'm not going anywhere," John assured him, "Not until we get you a clean bill of health and not without talking about what you want first."

Sam nodded, his eyes prickling with tears.

"Sam," John said and his voice sounded thick, as if there was a lump in his throat, "When we got that call that your things had been found and you were missing, well… I… I don't know what I'd do if I lost you…"

Sam gasped as his father grabbed him, squeezing him in a tight hug.

John had the emotional range of a soap dish most of the time so having him so choked up was a shock.

Of course Sam knew his father loved him, he just wasn't sure the man liked him. He wasn't sure his father wouldn't be willing to leave him in someone else's care while he continued his hunt for his wife's killer.

Sam patted his Dad's back, awkwardly at first but then in genuine comfort, "It's okay, Dad. I'm not going anywhere now. I'm here."

Sam closed his eyes as the hug continued. Finally, with one final firm squeeze, John released him, chuckling in an embarrassed sort of way. The older man cleared his throat.

"Can you forgive me, Sam, for being such an ass?" he asked and Sam nodded.

"Yes," Sam muttered, "I forgive you. And I understand why-"

"No," John interrupted in a tone he would use when Sam had been a toddler and had tried to put his pudgy fingers into electrical sockets, "No, I was way out of line, Sam. You didn't do anything. I was the idiot. I shouldn't have said those things to you. I'm the adult and should have known better."

Sam nodded, "Okay."

"The way I acted," John told him, "Was not your fault."

Sam didn't say anything for a long moment. There seemed nothing else to say.

"I don't know about you but I could use something cold to drink," John announced and Sam heard him stand up, "You want something?"

"Sure," Sam replied, "I'll come with you."

SPN

Dean smiled as he watched his father and brother walk around the side of the house together. He might not know a lot of things but he knew when the moment was right for his two family members to have a heart-to-heart.

He felt kind of bad for spying on them but he had to be sure John was sincere and hadn't just been playing both him and Sam for fools.

And he'd been right. The little hug-fest that had happened had proven that John had really seen the error of his ways and wanted to make it up to Sam.

The twenty-two year old heard the screen door slam as Sam and John came inside.

"Dean! You want a beer?" he heard John call from the bottom of the stairs and he stepped out of the bedroom, trying not to look too guilty.

"Sure," he said, "You having one too?"

Bobby, passing John on his way to the kitchen, scoffed, "Is the Pope a Catholic?"

Dean chuckled and headed down the stairs. Sam was seated at the kitchen table, a can of orange soda open in front of him.

"I think I'll have one of those instead," he said and grabbed an Orange Crush from the refrigerator and sat down beside Sam.

Bobby and John stuck with beer but joined the brothers at the table.

"Yer boys went out to a diner for lunch, Johnny," the grizzled hunter said and John raised an eyebrow curiously.

"Oh, how was that?" he asked.

Dean smiled and began telling his father and friend all about the morning Sam and he had enjoyed.

W

beep beep beep beep

What the hell was that?

beep beep beep beep

"Sam."

BEEP BEEP BEEP

"Turn off the alarm."

Dean blinked and raised himself up on his elbows, squinting at the alarm clock- it read six a.m. but was silent- and frowned.

What was making that sound?

"D'n?" Sam mumbled tiredly from the other bed, waking slowly.

Dean stared at the nightstand for a long moment before he saw it. The pager Dr. Greene had given him: it was going off!

"Sam!" Dean shouted and sat up quickly, grabbing the device and staring at his drowsy sibling.

"Wake up, Sam! C'mon, we've got to go!"

The eighteen-year old sat up and rubbed a hand over his face.

"What-" he began but Dean interrupted him.

"It's the pager! They have a kidney for you!"

Dean leaped off his bed and grabbed some clothes- the jeans he had been wearing the previous day and a grey t-shirt from his duffel- before hurrying over to Sam and pulling him up.

"Get dressed," Dean ordered, searching for his brother's clothes.

Sam remained where he was, seemingly frozen in place as Dean found him a pair of pants and a shirt to wear. Shoving the clothes at his brother, Dean turned and hurried out of the room, running downstairs and calling their father.

"DAD! Dad, get up now!"

John, who was sleeping on the couch, jumped as though the furniture was electrified and glanced around, ready for an attack.

"We've gotta go to the hospital," Dean said insistently.

"What's wrong?" John's immediately asked, a concerned expression on his face, "Is Sam alright?"

"They found a kidney for him," The twenty-two year old said before heading back upstairs again.

"Bobby! Hey, Bobby…"

SPN

Half an hour later the Winchesters and Bobby were sitting in the Impala, heading to the Sioux Falls General Hospital.

Sam sat the car's backseat with Dean, nervously fiddling with his folded cane.

"Sam," Dean said and the young man felt his brother's hand close over his own, "It'll be okay."

The eighteen-year old smiled, certain that his sibling was doing the same.

SPN

Dean couldn't believe it.

Dr. Greene had a kidney for Sam already? He'd said it would probably take months or even years because of Sam's rare blood type.

Dean recalled that shortly after they had found out about Sam's kidney failure he and John had gone for blood tests, to see if either of them would be a match.

Unfortunately neither Winchester was. A speed bump in Sam's recovery that only infuriated John. Mary had had the same rare blood type as Sam and if she hadn't died… well, suffice to say both Dean and John were disappointed.

Now though, Sam might be on the road to being healthy once again sooner than expected.

Although Dean knew that whomever this kidney had come from was probably deceased, the twenty-two year old couldn't help but be excited about the prospect of seeing his brother get better.

W

John parked in the area reserved for patients and led his small family towards the main doors of the hospital.

Dean walked beside Sam, resisting the urge to take his sibling's elbow and usher him along at a faster pace.

"C'mon, Sam, c'mon," Dean murmured as they stepped through the sliding doors and John approached the nurses' station.

"You can calm down, Dean," Bobby told him, "Sam's not likely to go into surgery today."

Dean frowned. He hadn't thought about that. He'd assumed that now that they had a kidney the doctors would want it transplanted as soon as possible.

"Oh," he muttered, "Are you sure?"

Bobby shrugged, "At any rate, Dr. Greene will want to talk to us before anything happens."

Dean looked up as John walked towards them.

"They're going to page Dr. Greene," his father said.

"How long is that going to take?" Dean asked, irritated.

It was the doctor himself who had set the pager off, why wasn't he here waiting for them?

"Don't know," John muttered, "Might as well sit while we wait."

"I'll stand," Dean commented, folding his arms across his chest.

"C'mere son," Bobby murmured to Sam and took his elbow, leading him towards the chairs.

W

The Winchesters did not have to wait very long for Sam's doctor to make an appearance.

He greeted the family warmly but put a halt to any questions by stating that he was sure they'd be more comfortable speaking in his office.

Dean rolled his eyes but followed, along behind his father. Sam was walking shoulder to shoulder with him and Bobby brought up the rear.

"Please," Dr. Greene said and held the door open as the Winchesters and Bobby were shepherded inside.

There were two seats in front of the doctor's large desk and Dean told his brother to take one. Bobby took the other because John preferred to stand- or loom- over them with Dean.

Dr. Greene sat down on his side of the desk and clasped his hands in front of himself, smiling.

"I am sure this is just as surprising for you as it is for me," he began, "I know I told you the wait for a new kidney would be a long one but someone has come forward and offered to help your son."

Dr. Greene was speaking directly to John but Dean raised an eyebrow curiously at the man's words.

From the corner of his eye he saw John frown and was sure that Bobby and Sam had similar looks of confusion on their faces as well.

"Wait," he interrupted, "Someone came forward? As in, a living person?"

Dr. Greene nodded, "Yes, its not very common that non-family members donate organs, such as kidneys, but it does happen. Some religious groups follow this practice."

"Who? Do we know this person?" John asked, trying to think of all the hunters he knew and wondered if any of them would actually be willing to give another person a kidney.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Greene apologized, "I cannot give you that information and even if I was allowed, he requested to remain anonymous. Call him a Good Samaritan."

Both elder Winchesters frowned. Dean though, wasn't perturbed by the doctor's reluctance to give them information on Sam's Good Samaritan; he had broken into many hospitals in order to get a hold of confidential materials and a late-night trip back to Sioux Falls General to look through the doctor's filing cabinet would be no problem. From the look on John's face, Dean knew his father was thinking the exact same thing. He smiled.

"What happens now?" Sam asked quietly.

"Ah," Dr. Greene said, "Right. Now, I think I'd like for you to have your dialysis today and I will schedule a surgery as soon as possible."

"He's not having surgery today?" Dean asked.

The doctor shook his head, "Sam is in no immediate danger right now and he must prepare for the surgery."

"Prepare how?" Bobby spoke up, his tone slightly suspicious.

"I will write Sam a prescription for an immunosuppressant and an antibiotic," Dr. Greene told them, pulling a prescription pad from his desk drawer, "That he will need to take prior to and after the surgery."

The doctor wrote the prescriptions, tore the paper off the pad and handed them to Bobby, who was closest.

"Sam will need to take the immunosuppressant indefinitely," Dr. Greene explained, "They will prevent his immune system from attacking the new kidney. Now, there are some risks you should know before going through this…"

SPN

Sam's head was spinning with information. He felt as though if Dr. Greene said one more thing his brain was going to start leaking out through his ears.

Thankfully, the physician released the family after an hour and a half and had Sam's dialysis appointment bumped up so that he could go right to it.

"Sammy? You okay?" Dean's voice asked and Sam felt his brother's hand on his shoulder as they headed down the hall towards the room with the dialysis machines.

"It's just a lot to take in," he replied.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Dean said quietly, "It'll be okay."

Sam nodded. It was only he and Dean; Bobby and John had decided to go back home- probably to discuss the impending surgery further- and would pick them up when Sam's appointment was over.

A nurse's voice greeted the brothers as they stepped into the room and made their way over to one of the machines.

"Should have brought that book with us," Dean commented as the nurse inserted the IV lines into Sam's arm.

The younger man gave a slight smile, "You can watch TV, Dean."

"Nah," his brother replied, "I'm alright for now."

Sam jumped a little when he felt Dean's hand close over the back of his own and squeeze.

The brothers fell silent, each lost in his own thoughts.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

The date was set.

In three days Sam would receive his new kidney. Dr. Greene had told the brothers the good news during the eighteen-year old's dialysis appointment before reminding Sam to take the medicines he had prescribed, like any good physician would.

Back at the Salvage Yard, Bobby and the Winchesters were in a celebratory mood. The grizzled hunter had taken some steaks out of the freezer to thaw and had set out eight potatoes- slathered in onions and butter- wrapped in tinfoil to go on the barbeque with the beef later.

"Bobby, I'm not supposed-" Sam began to object to the night's dinner menu but Dean interrupted.

"Live a little, Sammy," he exclaimed, gripping his younger brother's shoulder, "Some red meat isn't going to kill you!"

Sam- chagrinned- nodded and decided it would be all right to forget about his special diet for one night.

W

"So Sammy, what are you going to do when you have your new kidney?" Dean asked.

The younger brother chuckled and shrugged.

"I'll just be happy to not have to go on dialysis anymore," he commented. Although Sam had so far only gone to two appointments, the prospect of months or years of having to sit in a hospital room for hours on end while a machine cleaned his blood because his remaining kidney wasn't doing its job, terrified him. He would have one more appointment before the surgery- and Sam hoped that it would be the last one- but he told himself it was a small price to pay for health.

SPN

Dean watched as Sam meticulously cut up his steak. He was glad- overjoyed, really- that his brother was on the road to recovery so quickly, what with a new kidney from a mysterious donor.

He just wished they could do something about Sam's eyes.

"Ah!" Sam gasped suddenly, dropping his knife and fork.

"Sammy!" Dean exclaimed and saw red blossoming against the skin on his brother's hand.

Both John and Bobby stood up, the grizzled hunter grabbing a dishtowel hanging from the handle of the oven and the father rushed around the table to Sam's side.

Dean took his brother's wrist and examined his Sam's left thumb. A vertical cut bisecting the pad wept blood down the digit and onto the palm of his hand. He took the offered towel and pressed it against the wound, raising his brother's hand above his heart.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked and Sam nodded, "Yeah, just clumsy."

"I'll get the First Aid kit," John announced and left the room, his footsteps receding as he headed to the first-floor bathroom.

After a minute Dean lowered Sam's hand and peeled back the dishtowel.

Dean hissed at the sight of the red wound and Sam flinched.

"Sorry," Dean apologized, "I think this is going to need a couple of stitches, three at least."

Bobby peered at Sam's injured thumb and nodded, "Sliced yourself good, Son."

John returned with the First Aid kit and pushed the dinner plates to one side to give Dean some room on the table.

Although the cut wasn't bleeding as much as it had been- the gush was now an ooze of crimson- it still looked angry and painful.

Dean carefully set Sam's hand- palm facing up- on the table and opened the kit.

"This'll only take a minute," he assured his sibling.

Sam nodded, milky eyes narrowed.

"You want anything?" John asked, "For the pain?"

Sam shook his head, "I can handle it."

John looked to Dean, "You don't have to be tough, Sam."

Sam's head shot up, face turned in the direction of John's voice, "I'm fine, Dad, really."

John nodded- knowing Sam couldn't see him- and spoke, "Alright, alright."

Dean grabbed an alcohol wipe from the kit and pressed it against Sam's thumb. His brother didn't even flinch. He had an idea that this pain was nothing compared to what had happened to Sam at Dunhill- but John didn't know that- and he hoped their father would think it was just Sam being stubborn.

Laying the alcohol wipe aside, Dean then lightly pressed the edges of the wound as close together as he could. As he had been doing that, Bobby prepared a needle and suture for him, which he now handed to the younger man.

Carefully, Dean began sewing the cut in Sam's thumb up. He had been right. Three stitches were all it took. A small wound but a bad one nonetheless.

Once the stitches were in, Dean grabbed a roll of gauze and wrapped some around his brother's thumb, securing it with a strip of medical tape.

"You okay?" Dean asked his brother as Bobby started clearing away the First Aid kit and its accessories.

"Yeah," Sam muttered then turned his head in the direction of his father.

"Sorry Dad," he apologized, "I just…"

John reached out and put a hand on his youngest's shoulder, "I understand. I shouldn't have assumed."

There was a beat of silence before Bobby spoke up, "Dinner's getting cold here folks."

The tension melted away at that simple sentence and moments later the mood was once again lighthearted as it had been before. This time though, Dean cut Sam's steak for him.

"I warned you, Sam," Dean reminded him, catching sight of the scowl on his brother's face.

"I didn't cut my thumb off, Dean," Sam complained.

"No, but it was close," he commented.

Sam sighed.

"You'll just have to suffer this until your thumb heals a bit, okay?" Dean promised.

"Okay," Sam relented and awkwardly picked up his fork.

W

After dinner Sam decided to continue practicing reading Braille and went upstairs to get the novel he'd borrowed from the library.

While Sam was out of earshot, Dean turned to his father.

"What are we going to do once we have the Good Samaritan's files?"

"I'm gonna contact him and talk to him," John answered, "I want to know who he is. This is great, Sam getting a kidney, don't get me wrong, but it seems just a little suspicious to me."

Dean nodded. Through some unspoken agreement, Dean and John had decided that he would slip into Sioux Falls General later that night and filch the files from Dr. Greene's office.

Bobby, overhearing the conversation, rolled his eyes, "Why do you two idjits want to look a gift horse in the mouth?"

John turned to his friend, "I want to know what kind of person is giving my son a kidney. Is that so wrong?"

Bobby shrugged, "Just don't do something stupid and jeopardize Sam's chance at this, Johnny."

John's expression softened, "I won't."

The three hunters clammed up when they hear Sam coming down the stairs.

"You sure you don't want to wat- uh, listen to a movie, Sammy?" Dean asked as Sam set foot on the first floor, "I'll even find one with that Descriptive Video."

Sam shook his head, "No thanks, Dean. I just feel like reading for a while."

Using his cane, Sam found his way into the living room and sat down in one of the wingback chairs.

"Well, I'm going to watch something," Dean announced and turned the television on, turning the volume down so the noise wouldn't bother Sam and found an old horror movie. John drifted over to the couch where Dean was and sat down beside him.

Bobby remained where he was, seated behind his desk, a thick tome in front of him as he took notes from its pages on a yellow legal pad.

"C'mon Bobby," Dean looked up and saw the veteran hunter scribbling away, "Watch the movie with us."

The older man looked up, "I've gotta get this to Mackey. He's waiting on me."

"All work and no play makes Bobby a very dull boy," Dean said in a singsong voice.

From his seat, Sam snorted laughter.

Sighing, Bobby stood, "I guess Mackey can wait. He has this long. And it ain't like anyone dying."

"Yeah, c'mon," Dean encouraged and the older hunter joined the small family, moving the second wingback chair around so that it faced the TV screen.

SPN

John looked up expectantly as Dean came down the stairs. It was past midnight but the father and son were wide awake.

"You sure he's asleep?" John asked and Dean nodded.

"He was exhausted," he confirmed.

They hadn't wanted Sam to know what they were up to and had decided it best to wait until he was asleep. Sam's deviation from his diet earlier that evening had come back to bite him and he had spent a good three hours in the upstairs bathroom, vomiting and spiking a fever.

John felt bad for his son but was immensely grateful that he was getting a kidney and would soon be healthy.

Dean sighed and wiped a hand down his face. He looked completely beat.

"It wasn't your fault, Dean," John told him, "You didn't know Sam would have that reaction."

Dean however shook his head, "Dr. Greene told Sam to stay away from that stuff for a reason and I pressured him into it."

John didn't know what else to say. If Dean wanted to feel guilty about it, he would and nothing his father said was going to stop that.

Instead, John changed the subject, "If you can make copies of the files, do that, so Dr. Greene doesn't miss the originals."

Dean rolled his eyes, "I've done this before, Dad."

"I know you have," John replied, "I just want everything to go smoothly. This isn't just for a case; this is for your brother."

Dean nodded, "I won't fuck up."

"Get back as soon as you can," John said and handed Dean the keys to the Impala.

The twenty-two year old took them and headed outside, careful not to let the screen door slam behind him.

Dean started when he caught sight of Bobby sitting on the old porch swing from the corner of his eye.

"Good luck, Son," the grizzled hunter said.

"I thought you were in bed," Dean commented.

Bobby shrugged and looked up, "Thought I'd bid you farewell… and enjoy the stars. Don't get 'em in the city but out here there's a million of 'em."

Dean looked up and he saw that there were thousands upon thousands of diamond-like pinpricks in the sky.

"You feeling okay, Bobby?" he asked the older hunter.

Bobby nodded, lowering his gaze to Dean's face, "I just don't understand why you an' yer Daddy wanna go mess with this. Can't you be happy Sam's getting a kidney?"

Dean frowned, "We just want to make sure this guy's kosher, that he doesn't have some ulterior motive up his sleeve. Sam's already been through enough that he doesn't need some asswipe on his case because he gave him a kidney."

Bobby gave a half-shrug and once again hoped for Dean's good luck in pilfering the donor's files.

Dean nodded, promised he'd be back soon and stepped off the porch and trotted across the driveway to the Impala.

W

Dean was surprised- and slightly disturbed- to find how easy it was to break into Sioux Falls General after hours. He parked the Impala at the far end of the empty Visitor's Parking Lot, hiding the Chevy in the darkness cast by a broken streetlight and hurried silently towards the back of the building.

He found an unlocked employees' entrance. Some idiot had propped the heavy door open with a rock. Dean saw that a keycard was required for entrance and thanked the moron who had left the door ajar.

A humid stairwell greeted Dean- yellow numbers on the cement walls indicated the floors- and he hurried upwards.

Stopping at the appropriate floor, Dean tried the door and was happy to find it opened easily. He stepped out into the quiet, dimly lit hallway and tried to look natural.

No one met him as he strolled down the hall to Dr. Greene's office. Hoping that his luck was about to continue, Dean tried the doorknob but found it held fast, his hand slipping from its smooth surface when he tried to turn it.

No problem, Dean had his lock pick kit.

Peering down both ends of the hallway- apparently it was in between the night shift's rounds- Dean took out a thin piece of wire from his jacket pocket and inserted it into the keyhole of the doorknob.

Working quickly, Dean gave a smile when he heard the lock click and this time the door swung open when he turned the knob. Dean stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. In the darkness, he fumbled around until he found the lamp on the doctor's desk and turned it on.

Turning his attention to the large black file cabinet behind Dr. Greene's desk, Dean got straight to work.

Small cards on the fronts of the drawers listed Dr. Greene's patients in alphabetical order by surname. Dean crouched down so he could open the last drawer and find his and Sam's last name.

The drawer was stuffed full of plain buff-coloured file folders, some almost bursting with papers.

"Watson, West, Winchester…" Dean muttered and pulled out a file that read, 'WINCHESTER, SAMUEL'.

Taking his brother's file to the desk, Dean flipped it open and flipped through Sam's medical reports.

"C'mon," Dean murmured, "C'mon you son of a bitch, be in here…"

"HA!" Dean announced loudly as he pulled out a form for organ donation. There was a second form with Sam's information also in the folder but Dean ignored that one. He had the one he wanted.

"'Randall Oswald Gorman'," Dean read and grimaced at the Good Samaritan's name.

Dean scanned the information until he found the man's contact information. There was no photocopy machine in Dr. Greene's office but the physician did have a newspaper on his desk. Grabbing a pen from the holder- shaped like Garfield the cat- and tearing off a corner of the newspaper, Dean scrawled Randall Gorman's phone number. Interesting, he had a cell number but no home one.

Maybe he is a hunter, Dean thought, though he had never heard of him.

Shoving the scrap of paper into his jacket pocket, Dean replaced the pen and the donor information form. Then he crammed his brother's file haphazardly into the drawer, between 'WEINSTEIN' and 'WESTMINISTER' before closing it.

Dean crossed to the door, turning the lamp off as he went and listened carefully for the sound of footsteps in case a nurse was walking down the hallway.

All was silent. Dean opened the door and peeked out. There was no one. Stepping out, he closed the door after himself, forgetting to lock it in his haste and headed down the hall.

SPN

John looked up, relieved, when he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala's engine. Too eager to wait inside, he stepped onto the porch and greeted Dean.

"Did you get it?" he asked even though he knew his son wouldn't come home empty-handed.

Dean took a small slip of paper from his pocket and held it up triumphantly.

"His cell number," he told his father and John took the paper.

"His name's Gorman," Dean told John as they moved into the house, "Randall Gorman."

"Hm, don't know him," John commented.

"Maybe Bobby does," Dean offered, "Where is he, anyway?"

John looked up at Dean, his expression unhappy, "Sam woke up while you were gone. He's still sick."

Dean felt his heart clench.

"Shit," he swore, "I should have been there. What did Bobby say?"

"You were out getting him some eggs from the convenience store in town," John replied.

Dean frowned, Sam would never believe that, he thought and said so.

"Sam's spiking a fever," John told him, "If Bobby told him you were flying a pink elephant to Mars, he'd believe it."

"I've gotta see him," Dean said and left his father, his thoughts no longer on Randall Gorman but on his poor brother.

John listened to the slight commotion as Dean stepped into the upstairs bathroom where Bobby was with Sam, before taking his cell phone from his pocket.

Once the sounds from upstairs had died down, John opened his phone and pressed the numbers that would connect him with the Good Samaritan.

Raising his phone to his ear, John held his breath and waited as the phone rang and rang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure that just one meal wouldn't affect someone with renal failure so quickly, but this is Sam here and he has to suffer a bit more before things get better.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

Randall Gorman blinked tiredly when the sound of his cell phone ringing woke him.

Who was calling at this time of night? The doctor?

It was past midnight and Randall was sure that if something had happened- happened to the kid who was going to get his kidney in a couple of days- the physician would wait until morning to tell him.

Grabbing his cell, Randall cleared his throat and answered.

"Gorman, here," Just in case someone had a job for him.

"Gorman…" the voice on the other end said slowly, as though testing the name out.

"Yeah," Randall answered, "Who is this?"

"You're giving my son a kidney," the mysterious voice answered.

Randall frowned; how did this guy get his number? Dr. Greene had assured him of his privacy.

"You're not supposed to have this number," Gorman told the man.

"I know," the man- the boy's father- said, "But we need to talk."

Randall, who rarely ever felt afraid of anyone, grew nervous.

"About what?" he asked, his mouth dry.

"Can you meet me at Jackie's Café?" the man asked, "It's on the main stretch in town, I'm sure you've seen it."

Randall nodded; he had seen it. Had even eaten there a couple of times since stopping in Sioux Falls.

"Why should I trust that this isn't some kind of set-up?" Randall asked suspiciously.

"I'll be there," the man said, not answering his question, "And I'll be waiting for you."

Randall opened his mouth to speak but all he heard on the other end was the dial tone.

"Dann it!" he swore and closed his cell.

He wiped a hand down his face, weighing his options. He could go to Jackie's Café and perhaps walk into some kind of ambush or he could stay here and piss off a concerned father.

"What's he gonna do, not let me give my kidney to his kid?" Randall thought out loud.

But he didn't blame the man for wanting to know who he was. He'd probably be the same if he had a kid in that same situation.

Besides, this didn't feel like a trick. If someone- probably William Findlay- wanted him dead he wouldn't bother inviting him out for coffee first.

Deciding that the least Randall could do was hear the boy's father out, put his worries at ease as it were, he grabbed some clothes, threw them on and left his motel room.

SPN

John lowered the phone and wondered if he should have handled that better. He hadn't meant to sound unsavoury, he was just asking the guy to meet him at a coffee shop so he could get to know him. But it hadn't come out like that at all.

John cringed; he sounded like some mob boss or something. He just hoped he hadn't scared the man away, for Sam's sake.

The father thought about calling Gorman back and trying to start over but decided against it. What would be the point? What would he say as an excuse for his earlier conversation? I don't trust people who want to give my son their organs out of the blue?

John shook his head. He should get going.

He gaze traveled upwards and he wondered how Sam was doing. He wanted to go upstairs and be with his sons- he should be there- but he had already made his plans with Gorman.

Sighing, John shoved the scrap of paper into his pocket along with his cell phone, slipped his boots on and stepped out the front door.

SPN

"Sammy?" Dean said when he stepped into the guest bedroom. Bobby was sitting on the edge of his brother's bed, a washcloth in his hand, comforting the young man.

The grizzled hunter looked over his shoulder at Dean then back to Sam.

"Yer brother's here, Son," he murmured to the eighteen-year old.

Dean approached the bed and took Bobby's seat. Sam looked bad; his face was pale and beaded with sweat, there were dark circles under his eyes and two red spots high up on his cheeks. Dean took the cloth from Bobby and laid it gently against his sibling's brow.

"D'n?" Sam muttered; milky eyes wide.

"I'm right here, Sammy," Dean assured him and reached down to squeeze his brother's hand.

"M'cold," the eighteen-year old mumbled and closed his eyes.

"I know," his brother said, "It'll pass."

Dean looked up at Bobby, "Did he puke again?"

The grizzled hunter shook his head; "I don't think there'd be anything left in his stomach if he did."

Dean sighed and turned back to his brother. Releasing his brother's hand, he reached out and ran his fingers through Sam's short hair.

"I'm right here, Sammy," he whispered, "You rest, okay? I'm not going anywhere."

SPN

John parked the Impala in the lot for customers of the coffee shop and saw that his was the only vehicle.

Sighing, hoping he hadn't shot himself in the foot with his phone call, John climbed from the classic Chevy and stepped into the coffee shop.

Jackie's Café was open seven days a week, all day and night. John guessed that was a convenient place for cops and other people who worked late into the night, to grab a bite to eat and a coffee.

A young female waitress looked up when John opened the door and grabbed a pot of coffee from behind the counter. The father found a booth at the back of the café and sat down.

"Can I get you anything?" the waitress- whose nametag read 'Ashley'- asked.

"Coffee's fine," John replied, "I'm actually waiting for someone."

Ashley nodded, "Let me know if you change your mind. We have great pie."

John smiled and watched the waitress make her way back towards the counter.

John stirred his coffee with a spoon without putting any sugar or cream in it and took a sip. From his seat he had a perfect view of the front door. He hoped that the man- Randall Gorman- would come. He just wanted- needed- to be sure that nothing was funny with this.

W

Time passed slowly. Ashley came back and refilled John's coffee cup, once again asking if he wanted anything else.

"I'm alright," he told her, not taking his eyes off the front door.

Ashley looked over her shoulder when she heard the door open and a man stepped into the café.

The waitress smiled and called a greeting. The stranger lifted his hand in response, eyes scanning the booths until he caught sight of John.

He strolled across the room and slid into the booth across from the father.

"Gorman?" John asked even though he was certain it was.

The man nodded. John was surprised. The man was wholly unremarkable, his features were bland- forgettable- and his wardrobe was muted colours, khaki pants, sneakers, and an olive green jacket over a grey t-shirt.

"Winchester," Randall said and held out his hand but the father didn't shake it.

Instead, John asked one word: "Why?"

Gorman blinked, "Why?"

"Why do you want to give my son a kidney?" John elaborated, "I'm certain I've never met you before and I doubt Sam has."

"I heard about what happened at Dunhill and I wanted to help," Gorman answered.

The conversation was put on pause when Ashley approached and asked Gorman if he wanted coffee.

He said that would be lovely and the waitress filled his mug.

"Everyone heard about Dunhill," John replied, "It was all over the news. But Sam's name was never listed as one of the victims. How did you know he was there?"

Gorman stalled for time, adding sugar and milk to his coffee and stirring the liquid slowly before taking a sip.

"I'm not a pervert," he assured the father, "If that's what you're worried about. And I don't want money. I just want to try and make up for what those assholes did. Even if its just one kid."

John crossed his arms over his chest.

"Christo," he sighed, making the word sound like a curse and noticed that Gorman did not even flinch.

"Tell me the truth," he insisted, "There is no way you could have known about Sam unless someone told you about him."

The hunter smiled when he saw Gorman's eyes widen ever so slightly; he clearly didn't think John was smart enough to figure that out for himself.

The man bit his lip, thinking, but then sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"You want the truth? Okay, I'll give you the truth," Gorman said, "But you have to promise me that you won't punch me in the face."

John narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"I can't promise anything," he told Gorman.

The man however, decided to continue.

"I uh… have a special set of skills that I put to use… serving some interesting people," Gorman said, "I track people down. I have a gift for it."

John's expression darkened. He did not like what he was hearing but didn't speak.

"I heard about your son from William Findlay," the man told him, "He was the direc-"

"I know who he is!" John snapped.

Gorman flinched a little, "Anyway, he wanted me to find your son… why, I don't know… I think he was angry that he managed to get away and break Findlay's neat little operation at Dunhill wide open. I didn't really think much of it… not at first… but then I went there…"

John noticed the change in the man's tone. He hesitated when he spoke, his fingers tapping nervously against the side of his coffee mug.

Gorman cleared his throat and took a drink of his coffee.

"I couldn't believe people could do that to someone- what they did to those kids there- and I thought about Findlay wanting me to find your son and I just… I couldn't do it. I went through with it though, I followed your son's trail all the way here, even into the hospital."

John looked at the man, shocked that he had been so close to Sam and he hadn't even known it.

"I saw him on that dialysis machine and I knew that I couldn't tell Findlay where he was," Gorman said, "That kind of was the last straw for me."

"I'm not a bad person," the man told John, "I wanted to help your son, in any way I could. At first I thought I'd give you some money to pay for his medical bills but then I saw that we have the same blood type and that he was waiting on a new kidney… and I had to do it."

John sat back, stunned. The story was too outlandish, too crazy to be anything but true.

Gorman was looking at him anxiously.

"As soon as Sam gets the kidney I'll leave," he said, "You won't see me again."

John nodded.

"You said you have 'special skills'… a gift… what is it?"

Gorman looked surprised that John would ask.

"I… I'm psychic," he answered, shocked when John didn't scoff or laugh at him, "It's not like I see dead people or know what's going to happen in the future. But I see… I call them auras… colours surrounding people and they leave trails wherever they go. Also, I can sense emotions from people, from objects they've touched or places they've been… like a scent in the air…"

John didn't say anything for a long moment. Gorman took another drink from his coffee mug and waited.

"Thank you," the father said, "For telling me this."

Gorman nodded, stunned that John was taking it all in stride. He was certain when he'd told the man he was psychic he'd be laughed at, or worse, punched in the face.

John stood and pulled a bill from his wallet to pay for his coffee.

"Is everything all right?" Gorman asked.

"Yes," John replied.

Feeling as though he was in a dream, John walked out of the coffee shop. He unlocked the door to the Impala and sat down. He didn't turn on the engine for a long moment but simply stared at the interior of the café through its front windows.

The father sucked in a deep breath and tears began to leak out from his eyes. Lowering his head, John pressed his brow against the top of the steering wheel and cried.

SPN

Bobby looked up when the front door opened and John stepped inside. The grizzled hunter's eyebrows shot up at the sight of the younger man; John's eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, his face haggard.

"How'd it go?" he asked his friend casually. He knew enough when he'd come downstairs and found John missing just what the younger man had done.

"He's good," John replied, "He's good, Bobby."

The veteran hunter nodded.

"Is Sam alright?" John asked worriedly.

Bobby nodded, "His fever's gone down. He should be okay by morning."

John's shoulders sagged with relief.

"Both yer boys are asleep," the older hunter told him, "And it's about time you joined 'em."

John nodded and turned toward the couch.

"Upstairs with you," Bobby announced and stood, leading the way.

John followed, shucking his boots off at the bottom of the staircase before proceeding.

The light was still on in the guest bedroom and John smiled when he saw his sons squeezed together in one of the beds, sleeping peacefully. He went to the empty bed and sat down. Bobby flicked off the overhead light and John laid down, the sounds of his sons' breathing the only noise in the room.


	30. Chapter Thirty

John and Dean sat across from Dr. Greene in the man's office early the next morning.

It was just the two eldest Winchesters in attendance. Sam's doctor had called and asked his father and brother to meet him at the hospital to discuss something.

As soon as John heard the doctor's words he knew that somehow he had found out about the file.

Dr. Greene wasn't happy, that much was clear. His lips were pursed tightly and he didn't greet the Winchesters with the same warmth, as he normally would have.

"Last night someone snuck into the hospital, broke into my office and looked at a patient's confidential files," he said quietly.

"Why-" Dean began but the doctor raised a hand, silencing him.

"Do not take me for a fool," Dr. Greene said, "It does not take a genius to figure out who was snooping in my files, especially when they replace the file in the wrong spot."

John cut eyes at his eldest son for his rookie mistake but then Dr. Greene focused on him.

"Mr. Winchester, those files were confidential for a reason," he told the father, "Not only to protect your son but the man who is going to donate a kidney."

"I just wanted-" John began but the doctor interrupted him, not bothering this time to raise his hand.

"I know you want to make sure Sam's donor is a good person but that is not part of my job," Dr. Greene said, "If the donor is an asshole would you deny your son a kidney because you don't like that?"

John opened his mouth but then shook his head. He hadn't really thought about it that way.

"With your son's blood type we cannot afford to be picky, Mr. Winchester," Dr. Greene said, "Do you understand that?"

John nodded, "I do."

Rarely had the hunter ever felt so shamed in his life. Only two people he knew could make him feel so low like this, his mother and his late wife.

Now Dr. Greene folded his hands, "I trust you liked what you saw about Sam's Good Samaritan?"

John looked up and nodded, "Yeah."

Dr. Greene stood and took Sam's file from the cabinet, "That's good. I called him, by the way, this morning to find out if you'd contacted him."

John waited, his mouth suddenly dry.

"He informed me that he was still going to give Sam a kidney, even after your conversation last night."

John sighed, relieved.

"I am not going to press charges, though I should," Dr. Greene told them, "For Sam's sake."

John lowered his head, chastised.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Dr. Greene said brusquely, "I have patients to attend to."

The physician saw Dean and John out of his office before making his way down the hallway, not giving them a second glance.

Dean sighed and leaned against the wall for a moment, "Dad, I'm so-"

John shook his head, "What's done is done. We're all right. Next time, pay attention to what you're doing, Dean."

Dean nodded and followed his father as John walked down the corridor towards the parking lot.

SPN

Dean found Bobby and Sam in the kitchen when he and John returned from the hospital. Bobby was sitting at the table, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. Sam was eating a bowl of cereal.

The younger man raised his head when he heard Dean step into the room.

"What did Dr. Greene want?" Sam asked.

"Just needed us to fill out some forms, Sammy," Dean lied and took a seat beside his brother, "You feeling better?"

Sam nodded, "Yeah."

"Look, Sam, I'm so-" For the second time that morning Dean was halting in the midst of his apology.

"It was my fault," Sam replied, "I knew I shouldn't have eaten that stuff and I did. It wasn't like you were twisting my arm or anything."

Dean shrugged, "I guess. Still, I feel bad that you were so sick."

Sam lifted one shoulder and ate a spoonful of Rice Krispies, "I just want to forget about it."

Dean nodded and met Bobby's eyes from over the top of his newspaper.

W

Dean and Sam went to the Pharmacy after breakfast, the younger brother using his cane to help guide him. Dean had to resist the urge to grab his brother's elbow and steer him through the aisles but Sam insisted he use his cane unaided.

"You're not always going to be around to help me find my way in unfamiliar places," Sam reminded him before they had exited the car.

Dean nodded and relented, knowing that this was important for Sam.

He made his way up to the counter and waited patiently for his brother. The pharmacist looked at Dean, eyebrow raised and the young man pointed casually at his sibling. The pharmacist nodded and continued his work for a moment until Sam joined them.

Dean took the prescription Dr. Greene had written up for Sam's medications and handed them over.

The pharmacist looked over the paper and then went to get the required medicine.

"Want to do anything while we're out?" Dean asked his brother as they waited.

Sam shook his head, "I just want to go back to Bobby's."

Dean frowned, "Are you feeling alright?"

Sam shrugged, "Better than last night."

"Okay, Sammy," his brother said, "We'll get your pills and we can go back to Bobby's."

The pharmacist returned with two bottles. Dean stared at the large bottles as the man set them on the counter.

"These ones are the antibiotics," he told Dean, "Take two of these once a day. Only two. They're pretty powerful."

The pharmacist handed the bottle to the older brother, casting a sympathetic look at Sam, "These ones are capsules."

Dean nodded and took the bottle, peering through the clear orange plastic. The antibiotics were small, one half of each was yellow and the other was red. They looked like every other antibiotic pill out there.

"And these are the immunosuppressants," the pharmacist, "You'll need to take three in the morning- with food- and three at night, also with food. That's very important. Always eat when you're taking these."

Dean took the bottle the pharmacist gave him and squinted at the immunosuppressants, "So… these things are supposed to make my brother's immune system go for a shit but he'll get sick if he doesn't eat if he takes them?"

"Dean-" Sam began but his brother put a hand on his younger sibling's arm.

"If you don't eat and you take these," the pharmacist explained looking at Sam even though he couldn't see him, "you'll vomit."

"But they'll fuck up Sam's immune system," Dean said even though he knew all this. Dr. Greene had explained it all to Bobby and the Winchesters when he'd told them the good news about Sam's donor. It just bugged Dean that even though his brother was going to get a new kidney he was risking severe illness and infection by having his immune system compromised- important if he didn't want his body to reject his kidney- but, Dean, guessed that was what the antibiotics were for; to keep his weak immune system protected since it couldn't do the job for itself.

"That's the whole idea," the pharmacist said blandly.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to argue with the man, but Sam hit his shoulder with the flat of his hand.

"Forget it, Dean," he muttered, "Let's just go home."

Dean stared at his brother, "How did you know I was gonna talk?"

Sam smiled a little as Dean used a fake insurance card to pay for the medication, "I know you."

SPN

John sipped at slowly at his coffee as Bobby contentedly read his newspaper.

The father set his coffee cup down and sighed. Bobby raised an eyebrow, "Y'all right Johnny?"

The younger hunter pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'm scared, Bobby," he confessed.

The veteran hunter put the paper down and stared at his friend.

"Talk to me, John," he said.

The father sighed again, "This isn't a joke."

Bobby nodded, "No, it isn't."

"Sam could still get really sick," John continued, "Even when he does get this kidney there's still a chance he could reject it."

Bobby nodded solemnly, "That's always a possibility."

"He's already been through so much," John lamented, "He can't take much more abuse."

Bobby swiped his ball cap from his head and nodded, "I hear ya. But Sam can't go on without this."

John nodded, "I know that… I do… I just don't want to see Sam hurting anymore."

Bobby pressed his lips together, "Neither do I."

John looked down, staring at his coffee for a moment.

"Listen, Johnny," the veteran hunter continued, "Things are really starting to look up. You and yer boys are finally starting to get on Lady Luck's good side."

John nodded, getting control of his emotions. He smiled and looked up at Bobby.

"Yeah," he said, "You're right, Sam's a fighter. He's made it this far… he's not going to give up."

Bobby smiled back and stood, going to the cupboard above the stove and pulling out a bottle of Jack Daniels.

John pushed his coffee cup towards his friend and Bobby topped it up.

SPN

"These ones," Dean said and Sam felt his brother press the pills into his palm, "Are the immuno- immune- whatever, they screw with your immune system."

Sam felt the pills with the fingers of his left hand- they were small and round, slightly convex- like Aspirin.

"Okay," he replied, "Got it."

"These ones you have to take with food, Sammy," Dean told him, "I don't think you wanna be puking your guts out again."

Sam nodded and flinched when he felt his brother press his hand against his brow, "How are you feeling? Better? You're not warm."

"Dean," Sam grumbled, "Stop it, I'm fine."

His brother scooped the pills from his hand and Sam heard the sharp click as Dean opened the second bottle. Sam felt the capsules as Dean dropped a couple into his hand, their coating slightly tacky.

"Antibiotics," Dean said, "You've gotta take two of these ones a day."

Sam nodded.

"You think you'll remember that?" Dean asked and Sam nodded, "I'll try."

He heard Dean chuckle, "I know you will."

Sam felt Dean's hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly, "Two days Sammy. Two days."

SPN

The next couple of days were uneventful for the Winchesters, a calm before the storm, it felt like- but hopefully wasn't- and then the big day finally came around. Sam took his pills when he was supposed to and ate only the foods Dr. Greene had allowed him. Dean and John kept an eye on Sam for signs of illness while Bobby rolled his eyes in exasperation, often telling the two older Winchesters to leave the boy alone. The tension and excitement in the house grew exponentially as the hours passed until finally, the big day arrived.

Dean shook Sam awake even before sunrise.

"C'mon Sammy," he heard his brother say and felt Dean push some clothes into his arms, "Get dressed."

Sam nodded and pulled his t-shirt and jogging pants off, fumbling nervously with his clothes as he heard Dean dressing a few feet away.

"Hurry up, Sam!" Dean exclaimed, making Sam jump.

"Sorry," he muttered and reached into the collar of his shirt to find the tag so he could put it on the right way around.

"C'mon!" Dean's voice urged, now right in front of Sam and his brother grabbed the pair of pants on his lap.

"Here, they're the right way," Dean told him and Sam grabbed the pants from him, stood and tugged them on.

"Are Dad and Bobby awake?" Sam asked, wanting his brother to leave him be.

"Damn," Dean breathed and Sam heard his footsteps recede as he left the room.

Sam sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed. He rubbed both hands over his face then rubbed them over his short hair.

Now that the day of his operation had arrived, Sam couldn't be more anxious. He found himself wanting nothing more but to go back to bed.

It'll be okay, Sam thought, you know Dr. Greene.

Despite his own reassurances, Sam felt panic begin to sink in.

SPN

"Sammy! C'mon! What are you doing? Sammy?" Dean called as he headed up the stairs. He'd left his brother alone for several minutes and his sibling still hadn't come downstairs. He knew that Sam took a little longer to get dressed than he did when he had his sight but it shouldn't be taking him this long.

Dean made his way up the staircase and peered into the guest bedroom.

Sam was staring straight ahead, his face pale and his milky eyes, wide. His breathe was coming in short, sharp bursts.

"Sammy, calm down," Dean stepped into the room and sat down beside his brother, "Hey, it's okay, just take deep breaths."

Sam nodded, struggling to control his breathing. Dean, seeing that it wasn't making much difference to reassure his sibling, decided to try something else. Since Sam couldn't see him breathing calmly and regularly, he lifted his sibling's hand and placed it, palm down, on his own chest so Sam could feel his even breathing.

A minute or two passed before Sam's breaths were once again under control. He lowered his hand from Dean's chest and sighed.

"You okay?" Dean asked, concerned.

"Yeah… A little nervous," Sam admitted.

"Hey, it's okay to be scared," Dean told him, "Just remember that the doctors are there to help you and besides, Bobby, Dad and I will be there as soon as you wake up."

Sam raised his head, his eyes wet, "I know."

Dean patted his back and stood.

"I'll get your bag," he said and scooped up Sam's brand new duffel they had bought just the day before and left his brother to gather himself.

Bobby and John, puffy-eyed but alert, were waiting in front of the door.

"Sam comin' down?" the eldest hunter asked and Dean nodded, "He's a little bit nervous right now."

Both men nodded in sympathy.

"I'll go and get the car warmed up," Bobby suggested and took Sam's bag from Dean.

W

Five minutes later Sam was exiting the front door with Dean right behind him. Dean followed Sam, who walked slowly towards the growling Impala using his cane, and couldn't help but smile.

Sam was going to get a new kidney today; he was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay.


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

Dr. Greene met Bobby and the Winchesters as soon as they entered the hospital. He led the small family down to an empty exam room so that he could speak with them privately and allow Sam to get ready for the operation.

"You've had your last dialysis appointment," the doctor said, not really asking the question but Sam confirmed that he had gone the day before, as scheduled.

"You've been taking the immunosuppressants and antibiotics as prescribed?"

Sam nodded.

"You haven't been feeling sick recently? No cough, no fever?"

Sam shook his head; other than after his unfortunate decision to diverge from his special diet three days ago, he had felt fine.

"Good," Dr. Greene said and Sam noticed a change in the physician's tone when he began speaking to his family instead of him.

"The surgery will last roughly three hours," the doctor told Dean, John and Bobby, "Longer if there are complications but we are sure there won't be."

"Immediately afterwards," Dr. Greene continued, "Sam will be given immunosuppressants and antibiotics intravenously. He'll have to stay here for four to seven days to ensure that there is not infection or rejection."

"After we're certain that everything is working properly," the doctor said, "Sam will be able to go home but he'll need to come in again for check-ups for the next couple of weeks."

Sam again felt nervous. He, and his family, had heard all this before from Dr. Greene but now he was starting to feel doubtful.

What if something went wrong? What if his body rejected the kidney? What if he got an infection?

"Sam?" Dean's voice said suddenly, "Hey, you okay?"

"There's nothing to be anxious about," Dr. Greene told him, "You're in good hands."

Sam nodded and bit his lips, "I know… It's just…"

He startled a little when he felt a hand on his shoulder- it wasn't Dean's- and the doctor spoke again, "I understand your fear but please trust me when I say that we will try and make this as painless as possible. We are here to help you, Samuel."

The eighteen-year old raised his head and stared in the direction of Dr. Greene's voice, "I know… thank you."

The hand left his shoulder, "I have to go and get ready. A nurse will come in and help you prepare."

"Can I stay with him?" Dean's voice asked, "Just until he's ready?"

There was a long pause as though the doctor was thinking but then Sam guessed he must have nodded because he felt Dean's hand touch his arm comfortingly.

"If you two gentlemen wish to stay too you can," Dr. Greene's voice said and Sam heard the sound of his footsteps against the tile floor as he left the room.

Sam turned his head, seeking his father and friend.

"We'll be right there when you wake up, Son," Bobby said, "It'll all be okay."

The young man felt Bobby's rough, calloused hand squeeze his shoulder for a moment before it fell away.

Sam jumped slightly when John hugged him- it was going to take a little bit to get used to having his father so affectionate towards him again- and embraced the older man as well.

"I love you Sam," John mumbled quietly in his ear and pulled away.

The young man listened to the sound of his father and friend's footsteps grow faint as they left the room and walked down the hall.

"Dean?" Sam asked.

"I'm right here, Sammy," Dean assured him and Sam relaxed.

"Why don't you sit up here?" his brother suggested and Sam heard a faint sound of paper crinkling as Dean patted the exam table.

Before Sam could move though, another set of footsteps sounded- this one lighter and quicker than the hunters' or the doctor's- and a female voice spoke up.

"Hello, my name's Claire," the nurse greeted, "I'll be helping you get ready for your surgery."

"Hi," Sam replied, slightly nervous.

"Is this your brother?" the nurse asked and Sam nodded.

"Dean," the twenty-two year old answered.

"Sam, can I get you to take your clothes off except for your underwear?" the nurse said in a kindly voice, "There's a gown here for you to put on."

Sam nodded and he heard the nurse retreat, "I'll be back in a few minutes with a gurney."

Sam didn't move until he heard the snick of the door as it closed behind Claire and then he grabbed the hem of his t-shirt.

"You need help?" Dean's voice asked but Sam shook his head, "I've got it."

SPN

Dean knew Sam was scared. His knew Sam thought it didn't show and maybe it didn't- on his face- but his body language was harder to control. Sam moved slowly, reluctantly handing over his cane and removing his garments.

Dean collected Sam's clothes as his brother shed them, folding them haphazardly and dropping them onto a chair.

Clad only in his boxer shorts, Sam looked very vulnerable. He could see the scar on Sam's side from where Dr. Bates had removed his kidney to give to some asshole and the bruise over the fistula on his arm- the IV needles they used for dialysis were merciless- was dark purple, making his skin seem even paler.

Sam was still fairly thin, as well, and Dean supposed it would take more than a few weeks for his brother to gain back the weight he'd lost while he'd been in Dunhill.

Dean handed Sam the blue hospital gown and his brother shrugged into it.

The door opened and Claire stepped into the room. Outside a couple of orderlies stood on either side of a gurney that would transport Sam to the operating room.

"Are you ready?" the nurse asked and Dean saw Sam nod and swallow thickly.

Reaching out, Dean took his brother's wrist, "It'll be okay, Sammy. I promise. I won't let anything bad happen to you."

Sam turned his head towards Dean, his milky eyes wet.

Dean frowned, wishing he could be there in the room with his brother during the surgery but knew that would be out of the question.

"I'll be there as soon as you wake up," Dean assured Sam and led him towards Claire.

Dean held Sam's hand out by the wrist and placed it on the gurney as the nurse and orderlies watched.

"Can you lie down on your side, Sam?" Claire asked and Dean watched his brother get onto the gurney and lie on his left side.

Before the gurney could move, Dean reached out again and put his hand on Sam's head, running his fingers through his brother's short hair.

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy," Dean murmured then lowered his hand.

He watched as the Claire gave the orderlies the 'go-ahead' and they began pushing the gurney down the hallway, the nurse speaking quietly to Sam.

Dean sighed and watched until the group had rounded a corner before turning and heading towards the waiting room where John and Bobby would be.

SPN

Sam's heart was jackhammering.

He knew he wasn't in Dunhill anymore. He knew that the nurse and orderlies were here to help him, that Dr. Greene was going to help him but it seemed instinctual that his body was reacting the way it was now.

"Sam, are you alright?" he heard the nurse ask from beside him and he nodded once.

"Yeah… just don't like hospitals," he muttered.

"Don't worry, everything's going to be fine," Claire said in a calming tone and Sam tried to relax.

He closed his eyes and jumped when the gurney bumped open a pair of double doors- the kind they seemed to have in every hospital- and heard the sounds of more nurses and other medical personnel.

The gurney Sam was laying on came to a stop and he felt someone standing him.

"How are you feeling, Sam?" Dr. Greene's voice asked.

The young man opened his eyes even though he wouldn't see anything and answered, "Okay."

Sam wondered if his donor was already in the room, conscious for now as he was or already asleep and prepped for the operation. Sam felt unease creeping through him and decided that he didn't want to know.

"If you're ready I'm going to give you the anesthetic now," Dr. Greene's voice told him and Sam nodded once.

Sam felt the doctor carefully fit the mask over his mouth and nose and he closed his eyes, the urge to fight almost irresistible.

Its okay, Sam told himself, he's not going to hurt me.

"-Count to ten for me, Sam," Dr. Greene instructed, interrupting the young man's thought.

"Try to breathe normally," the doctor said and Sam held his breath, realizing that he was close to panic again.

A slightly sweet smell filled the air inside the mask and Sam reached up to pull the offensive thing off his face.

He struggled when he felt someone- probably Dr. Greene- grab his arm by the wrist and push it away.

"Sam," the man said, "Sam, it's alright. Calm down."

"Get off of me! Don't touch me! Get-"

Sam couldn't fight the unconsciousness the anesthetic brought with it, its affects quickened by his frantic breathing. His limbs became limp and his mind felt disjointed until finally everything became dark and he floated away into sleep.

SPN

Dean hoped that Sam was all right. He glanced down at his watch and saw that his brother's surgery had already begun.

"How was he?" John asked, his tone concerned.

Dean shrugged, "He was nervous. But I think he was okay."

Bobby nodded, "Anyone would get scared for a big surgery like that and after what Sam's been through, well, he has certainly been brave for all of this."

Three hours- give or take- until they could see Sam again; Dean didn't know if he could wait that long.

Bobby stood and stretched, "I'm gonna go get some coffee. You two want any?"

"I'll come with you," John offered and looked at Dean.

"Come on, Dean," his father encouraged, "The cafeteria will be better than sitting here on your own."

The older brother wanted to wait for his sibling but he knew that remaining where he was wasn't going to make Sam's operation move faster. Instead, he stood and nodded, "I could really use some caffeine."

SPN

John looked up instantly when Dr. Greene stepped into the waiting room. The physician had taken off his gloves and pulled down his mask but he still wore his mint-green smock, booties, and cap. There was a smear of blood on his shirt.

"Is Sam alright?" John asked as the doctor approached, looking tired but pleased.

Three and a half hours had passed since Sam had been taken into surgery and although that wasn't too much longer than the doctor had told them it would be, that extra half-hour made the hunters nervous.

Dr. Greene smiled, "The operation went well. Both patients are recovering nicely."

John's shoulders slumped in relief, "Thank you, Doctor."

"If you'd like to come and wait with Sam while he wakes up, I'll allow it," Dr. Greene continued, "He had a bit of a panic attack before the surgery."

Dean's eyes widened in concern, "What happened?"

"Sam was calm up until he was given the anesthetic," Dr. Greene explained, "Which is to be expected from what he'd experienced at Dunhill. He went under without a problem but I think having his family there as soon as he wakes will relieve any lingering anxiety."

Although John knew Dean had planned on being at Sam's bedside as soon as his brother woke up, having actual permission from the doctor made a potentially bad scene a nonissue.

"Sam's in a recovery room right now," Dr. Greene told them, "Once he's awake and everything is working as it should, he'll be moved into a more permanent room for a few days."

The small family followed the surgeon down the hallway to a room just off the operating area and John felt his eyes well with tears when he saw Sam lying in bed.

SPN

Dean was at Sam's side in an instant. He reached out and took his sibling's hand, gently rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. He felt bad that Sam had been frightened in the operating room and once again wished he could have been there to let his brother know nothing bad was going to happen to him.

But he was here now; Dean was going to make sure Sam knew he wasn't alone when he woke up.

Sam looked kind of bad, in Dean's opinion but he guessed that was to be expected after a nearly four-hours in surgery. His brother's face was pale except for two red spots high on his cheeks- as though he had a fever- and his hair was damp with sweat. His breathing and his heart rate- both monitored by a machine sitting beside him- were regular and calm.

Dean saw his father lift his arm and wipe his eyes with his sleeve.

"He's okay, Dad," he said, "He'll be okay now."

John nodded and reached out to take Sam's other hand.

Bobby remained at the foot of the bed, part of the family but distancing himself.

Not wanting to crowd Sam too much, Dean thought.

"C'mon Sammy," the twenty-two year old mumbled, "It's time to wake up now."

"Dean," John said, "Sam's only just got out of surgery. Give him some time to come around."

The young man looked at his father, knowing that John felt he was being impatient but he knew Sam and was certain his brother would wake up at the sound of his voice.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, his thumb rubbing his brother's knuckles, "C'mon Sammy. You did great. Time to enjoy that new kidney of yours."

Just as he'd expected, Sam's fingers twitched against his hand and squeezed. Dean smiled down at his sibling as Sam's eyelids began to flutter.

"Atta boy, Sammy," Dean encouraged, "I knew you had it in you."

John, looking surprised at how quickly his youngest was recovering from the anesthesia, joined his eldest in urging Sam to wake.

"Sam," he murmured, "Can you open your eyes?"

The eighteen-year old groaned and his eyelids slowly lifted.

Dean felt a pang of sadness at the sight of his brother's milky eyes even though he knew he wouldn't see anything else.

"Hey," he said and patted his brother's hand, "How're you feeling?"

"D'n?" Sam muttered, "Where'm I?"

"The hospital," Dean answered carefully, "But it's all okay."

Sam's eyes widened at the word 'hospital' and he groaned again, "Don' feel good."

"You'll be alright in a few minutes," John said, "Just relax."

Sam's head bobbed and his chin drifted down towards his chest.

"My side hur's," he mumbled, his words slurring, and raised his head.

"Okay Sammy," Dean said, "Don't worry, Dr. Greene's gonna give you the good stuff really soon."

Again Sam nodded once, slowly but steadily become more coherent and orientated as the anesthetic wore off.

SPN

Randall Gorman opened his eyes and saw Dr. Greene standing beside his bed.

"How'd it go, Doc?" he asked hoarsely.

"Excellent," the physician told him happily, "How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?"

Randall shrugged, "I'm good. How's the kid?"

"He should be waking up from the anesthesia any time now."

Gorman nodded, "Good."

"As soon as we're sure that you have no infection and that your kidney is working as it should, you'll be allowed to leave," the doctor told him.

Randall nodded. Dr. Greene had informed him that even with one kidney, he should live a full and long life. There wasn't even any need for him to be on any special medication or diet as long as his remaining healthy kidney stayed that way.

Dr. Greene smiled at Randall, "There should be more people out there like you, Mr. Gorman."

Suddenly the man felt his eyes prick with tears. He certainly had never heard anyone tell him that before.

"Are you alright?" the physician asked, his tone now concerned.

Randall nodded, "Yeah… Yeah… I'm great."

Dr. Greene seemed satisfied with the answer, "A nurse will see you shortly."

The doctor walked from the room and Randall closed his eyes for a moment, sighing.

Although he would never be called a saint- he certainly hadn't done much good in his life- Randall felt peace come over him unlike he'd ever felt before.

With his eyes closed, Randall did not see the nurse enter the room. With his eyes closed, Randall did not see her blue eyes flash sickly lemon-yellow and a smile cross her mouth. With his eyes closed, Randall did not see the woman lift her left hand lazily and flick her fingers.

There was a sharp snapping sound as Randall Gorman's neck broke and he died instantaneously.

The monitors he was still attached to- heart and breathing- let out their warning signals as all signs of life abruptly stopped.

The nurse calmly looked at the machines for a moment before her mouth opened as wide as it could go and thick black smoke pushed its way out, streaming up towards the ceiling and vanishing in a crackle of lightning.

The nurse fell to the floor- stunned- and later, when revived, would claim she had no memory of ever entering Randall Gorman's room or meeting him at all.


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two

Bobby and the two eldest Winchesters looked up when a voice came on over the PA system calling for a Code Blue. Seconds later the sound of running footsteps passed the room the small family was in, the hunters glancing worriedly at one another.

"I'll go see what's happening," the grizzled hunter suggested so that Dean and John could stay with Sam who was still a little loopy from the anesthesia.

Stepping out of the room, Bobby glanced down the hall and heard a commotion coming from the recovery room next to Sam's.

Moving forward stealthily, the hunter peeked into the open doorway but saw nothing except a phalanx of nurses and doctors working on the poor bastard inside.

Bobby stepped out of the way as an older woman led a young female nurse from the room. The younger nurse was crying, her words incoherent, while her matronly companion patted her arm, murmuring to her.

"Excuse me-" the hunter began but the women ignored him and headed down the hallway.

Realizing that no one was likely to talk to him, Bobby ducked back into Sam's room.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked and glanced down at his brother.

"Heart attack maybe," Bobby answered, "Or something else. Don't know who."

The old hunter saw John frown but the father said nothing about the Code. Instead he turned to his youngest and asked how Sam was feeling.

SPN

John looked up, startled when Dr. Greene stepped into the room.

"Can I speak with you privately for a moment?" the physician said, looking a little bit shell-shocked.

The father nodded and he and Bobby stepped out of the room.

"I think Sam should be moved to another hospital," Dr. Greene told them without preamble.

"What? Why?" John asked anxiously, "Is something wrong?"

The doctor shook his head, "Your son is fine. No, his donor though, is dead."

John's eyes widened in shock and he looked at Bobby; the older hunter looking just as surprised.

"I didn't have anything to do with it if that's what you-" John began defensively but Dr. Greene shook his head.

"I don't think you had anything to do with the man's death, Mr. Winchester," he said, "But I am not certain that it is completely safe for Sam here."

"I've contacted the police and they are on their way," Dr. Greene continued, "Whoever killed Mr. Gorman may still be inside the hospital."

Bobby narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "How d'you know he's been killed?"

The doctor sighed, "I really shouldn't be telling you this…"

"If Sam's in danger," John began and the doctor nodded.

"Randall Gorman was found with his neck broken."

Both hunters looked at one another.

"Did you see anything suspicious in his room, doctor?" Bobby asked, "Or smell anything?"

Although there were a great number of supernatural creatures strong enough to snap a grown man's neck, not all of them would have been able to enter the hospital undetected.

Dr. Greene looked curiously at the two men but shook his head, "No, one of the nurses was in his room but she claims to have no memory of ever going inside. She was supposed to be on the pediatric floor. Not here."

Bobby and John looked at each other. The look in the older hunter's eyes confirmed the father's suspicion. A man was dead with his neck snapped and a nurse had been found in a room where she had no business.

Demons had killed Randall Gorman.

"What hospital do you want to send Sam to?" Bobby asked.

"Mitchell is close enough and they will be able to look after Sam while he recovers," Dr. Greene explained, "As long as there are no complications your son should be alright there."

John nodded; Mitchell was about an hour and a half away and had a much smaller population then Sioux Falls.

"I have an ambulance ready," Dr. Greene told them, "If Sam's awake."

SPN

Dean looked up concernedly as John, Bobby and Dr. Greene stepped into the room, all with frowns on their faces.

"What's wrong?" he asked instantly, looking to the surgeon.

Sam, now more coherent as the anesthetic had nearly left his system, struggled to sit up but Dean turned to him.

"It's okay, Sammy," he murmured but Sam stared at him blindly, his expression nervous.

"What's wrong?" he asked, repeating his older brother's question.

"We need to send you to another hospital," Dr. Greene told the young man and Sam's expression turned from one of anxiety to fear.

"What's wrong? Did something go wrong? What happened?"

Dean reached out and gripped his sibling's shoulder, trying to calm him.

He all but glared at the three older men who were doing nothing to assuage his brother's terror.

"Tell us!" he snapped, "What's happened?"

"Sam's donor has died," Dr. Greene told them, "Murdered, it looks like and I feel that it would be safer for your brother if he was not in this hospital for very much longer."

Dean's eyes widened in shock and his grip tightened painfully on his sibling's shoulder, "WHAT?"

"That Code Blue was for Gorman," his father said, "Dean, we need to leave."

Sam looked stunned, his mouth opened as though he wanted to speak but no words came out.

Dean looked to the doorway as a male nurse pushed a wheelchair into the room.

Dr. Greene looked at the brothers apologetically, "I'm sorry this has happened. Hopefully the police will be able to catch whoever did this."

The doctor grabbed the chair and dragged it towards the bed. The male nurse stepped into the room to help.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean assured his brother as the doctor and nurse worked to remove the monitors and IV line and turn off the machines.

Sam seemed too startled to do much of anything and just let the doctor and nurse manhandle him.

"Sammy?" Dean said, starting to feel nervous by his brother's silence, "Sammy, you okay?"

The twenty-two year old approached the bed and put his hands on either side of his brother's face, "Hey, its okay. We're gonna get out of here and everything will be fine. You'll be fine."

Sam blinked and swallowed, "Y-Yeah… Okay."

Once Sam was seated in the wheelchair Dean insisted on taking it himself, gripping the handles tightly.

"Where to?" he asked and looked up at Dr. Greene.

"Ambulance bay," the doctor said, "There's one waiting for you."

Dean nodded and pushed his brother out the door, John and Bobby following close behind.

He didn't blame Sam for his reaction- or lack of one- at the news that his kidney donor was dead and that he himself might be in danger. The kid had just woken up from surgery for Pete's sake!

Dean peered down at his brother. Sam was shaking his head as though trying to clear it and decided that he might not have been completely free of the fog the anesthesia had caused.

"You with me?" he asked and Sam sighed, "Yeah."

"It's gonna be okay," Dean assured him, "It will be."

He peered over his shoulder at John and Bobby and hoped that he wasn't lying to his brother. He knew there was more to the story then what the doctor had told them and he wanted to know what had the two older men looking so uneasy but that would have to wait. Dean didn't really want Sam involved in anything supernatural. Not now. Not ever again, if he was telling the truth.

He just hoped that it would be enough to change hospitals and whoever- whatever- had killed Sam's donor wouldn't come for his brother.

SPN

Sam felt very vulnerable sitting in a wheelchair, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts and a hospital gown, and heading towards the area where the ambulances parked.

Dean was with him though, and John and Bobby, though so that made him feel slightly better.

He didn't know what was happening. He had heard Dr. Greene say that he thought his donor had been killed but the words seemed to have lost their meaning to him. Sam wasn't concerned with a would-be murderer on the loose in Sioux Falls General.

No, he was more concerned with the fact that he was seeing something very, very strange.

He had grown used to the white, foggy cloud that obscured his vision altogether ever since Dr. Bates had fucked his eyes up but this… this wasn't right. This wasn't normal. At least it didn't feel right or normal.

From what the optometrist, Dr. Monticello had told them, his eyes were not going to get better. Even if he did have surgery, there were scars left by Bates' butchery that would leave him blind permanently.

Sam wasn't sure what was happening, if what he was seeing- yes, seeing- was some strange affect of the anesthetic he'd been given or if it signaled something more sinister but it frightened him.

Sam stared at newly imagined hospital around him. It looked to the young man as though someone- an artist perhaps- had sketched the interior of the building in pencil. He could see the outlines of doorways, gurneys, signs overhead. All appeared to have been rendered in dark pencil on a piece of stark white paper. The sight was very disorienting. Sam could see objects- their outlines- and was thrilled at the sight, despite their lack of colour; simply being able to see them again heartened him.

What was the strangest however, was the colour. Although the inanimate objects of the hospital were only white and black, people- medical personnel and patients- they passed seemed to have rings of colour surrounding them. As Dean wheeled Sam down the hall the eighteen-year old stared at the people they passed, all white and blank as paper dolls, except for the circle of colour surrounding them.

Blue, green, purple, red… all the colours Sam recognized appeared as a nimbus around doctors and nurses and patients.

Like auras, Sam thought to himself.

His eyes started watering and within moments he had tears leaking down his cheeks.

"Sam! Sammy! What's wrong?" Dean's voice called out from behind him and suddenly Dean was there, in front of him.

Sam gaped at his brother, just like the others, his sibling was devoid of features but the aura that surrounded him was bright gold, pulsing quickly.

The sight was both terrifying and extraordinary.

"D'n," Sam muttered and reached out, startling when he noticed that his own hand, which was drawing closer to his brother, was invisible. He could not see himself- his own aura- but he could see others around him.

"Hey," Dean said and gripped his hand, fingers edged in golden light holding his own trembling ones.

"Are you hurting? We're almost there," Dean's voice said and Sam shook his head despite the fact that his side was now starting to protest his posture.

"I… I…" Sam stammered, unsure of how on earth he could explain what he was seeing to Dean.

"Dean," his father's voice spoke up, "We have to go."

Dean, nodded and stood, moving around to the back of the wheelchair and began pushing it forwards again.

Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes, relishing the darkness behind his eyelids.

SPN

Dean frowned. Sam was acting very strangely.

He could have sworn his brother was staring at people they passed in the hallway but that was impossible, Sam was blind!

Maybe he's just in shock, Dean thought, after hearing about his donor and everything.

The twenty-two year old breathed a sigh of relief when they exited the hospital through the sliding doors and saw an ambulance parked at the curb, waiting for them.

Dean hit the brakes on the chair and gripped his brother's arm, "C'mon Sammy, we're here."

Sam stood shakily, his eyes closed and Dean frowned.

He hoped that his brother wasn't about to pass out or anything.

The paramedics came forwards and helped Sam into the back of the waiting ambulance, carefully strapping him onto the gurney so that he wouldn't be jostled.

"Are you coming with him?" the male paramedic asked and Dean nodded instantly.

He sat down on the low bench built into the side of the vehicle and peered out at his father and Bobby.

"We'll meet you there," the grizzled hunter said and although John didn't look too happy to be separated from his sons, nodded.

The female paramedic leaned over Sam, asking him questions and her male counterpart closed the back doors tightly.

Dean reached out and gripped Sam's hand as the ambulance began moving, hoping that they were doing the right thing.

SPN

"Why would demons kill Sam's donor?" John asked, gripping the Impala's steering wheel tightly, keeping the white ambulance in sight ahead of them.

"Why do demons do anything?" Bobby commented, "They must not have liked the man for something."

John just frowned.

"Look, you said he was some kind of psychic, that's how he found Sam," the grizzled hunter said, thinking aloud, "Maybe it had something to do with that."

John glanced at his friend for a moment before returning his gaze to the road, "You don't think he made some sort of crossroads deal, do you?"

Bobby shook his head, "If he had, the man'd be Hellhound chow."

John nodded; that made sense. Gorman had his neck broken, not been torn to shreds.

"From what I know," Bobby told him, "Demons don't usually go out of their way to off psychic folks either."

The two hunters fell silent for a long moment, John thinking about what he knew of Randall Gorman when an unpleasant idea occurred to him.

"What if it wasn't about Gorman at all," he suggested, "What if it's Sam."

Bobby looked at him, grey eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What if it's about Sam and that son of a bitch who killed Mary?" John continued.

"I don't know, Johnny," Bobby answered quietly, "I just don't know."

SPN

Sam opened his eyes slowly, telling himself that what he'd seen before had been a fluke- that it was just the anesthetic messing with his brain- and drew in a sharp breath as the interior of the ambulance and its tree occupants appeared before him.

"Sam!" Dean said, his gold-outlined form drawing nearer, "Sammy, what's wrong?"

The female paramedic- her aura a lilac colour- appeared in Sam's line of vision, "Are you in pain? On a scale of one to te-"

Sam however, wasn't listening to her.

"I… I… can see," he stammered, "I can see…. I can-"

This time it was Dean who interrupted, "What?"

"Sam? What? You… can see?"

The eighteen-year old nodded and licked his lips nervously, "Yeah… S-Sort of… anyway…"

Although Sam could not see his brother's face, he was certain Dean was giving him an incredulous look.

"Okay, okay," he said, "Calm down… just… calm down…"

"Dean," Sam said, "Look!"

The younger man reached up and put his hand against his brother's face, causing Dean to draw back.

"I can see you," Sam insisted.

"But… but that's not possible," Dean argued, "The doctor said you wouldn't be able to see again."

Sam narrowed his eyes, "I know! I know that, Dean! But this… this is something else!"

"Alright," the male paramedic- his aura a deep blue- "You'll need to calm down."

"How?" Dean asked, "How is that possible? Your eyes-"

"Sir, you're going to have to wait to ask questions," the female paramedic's voice spoke up, "and calm down."

Sam didn't see it but he was certain Dean had opened his mouth to begin arguing again but then closed it. He saw his brother lean back, crossing his arms over his chest.

Believe me, Dean; Sam thought, I'm just as shocked as you.

SPN

John grumbled as he grabbed the pen from the nurse at the front desk and began filling out a large stack of forms.

He wanted to be with his sons, not doing paperwork.

"I'm sorry sir," the nurse apologized, not sounding sorry at all, "But it's procedure."

Bobby stood with him, staring in the direction Sam and Dean had gone, deeper into Mitchell's rather tiny hospital.

"Relax Johnny," Bobby said, "Sam's alright. He's just here to get back on his feet before going home."

John stared at his friend. He wasn't worried about Sam in that way, he was concerned the demon that had killed Gorman had followed them.

Bobby looked over his shoulder at him and John knew that the grizzled hunter feared the same thing but of course couldn't say so in front of the nurse.

"Here," John said and shoved the filled-out forms at the nurse, taking off down the hallway as soon as he was finished with them.

As a result of the hospital's small size, it didn't take the father long to locate his sons. He opened the door to Sam's room to find his youngest sitting up in bed while a nurse checked his vital signs and Dean sat beside him on a chair left for visitors.

Both his sons looked up at him as John stepped into the room and from the expression on their faces something big had happened from the time he had left them in the ambulance to now.

"Sam has something to tell you," Dean said seriously and John's heart began to pound in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to describe what Sam was seeing as best I could. It was difficult because I could picture it in my head but translating that into writing was harder than I thought it would be. Although Sam does not have his full vision back- and his eyes remain milky white- he does have some semblance of sight. I couldn't leave him blind- I'm not that cruel!


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

John looked as though he was about to faint. Dean quickly stood, grabbed his father's shoulder and steered him to the chair for visitors. The father sank into it gratefully.

"Really?" John asked, "You're not joking?"

Sam shook his head, "Why would I joke about something like this?"

John shrugged, "I… don't know what to say."

The nurse had left the room five minutes ago and in that time Sam had told his father the incredible story of his restored vision.

"I don't know if its permanent or not," Sam said seriously, "So we shouldn't get too excited."

John shook his head, "I think… I think this is it, Sam."

His youngest son's eyebrows knitted together in confusion, "What do you mean, Dad?"

John took a deep breath, "I spoke to your donor, Sam. In person. He told me that he was a psychic."

Sam's expression of confusion didn't change, "You what? Dad! Why did you do that?"

"I wanted to make sure he was the real deal," John told him, "I wanted to make sure he wasn't trying to pull one over on us."

Sam opened his mouth but closed it again, "He's a psychic."

John nodded, "Yeah… he can't see the future or anything… but he said he could see these… auras around people and that sounds a lot like what you're seeing right now."

Sam gaped.

"How? How is that possible?"

John shrugged, "Maybe having his kidney gave you some of his abilities."

Sam shook his head, clearly unsure of what to say or how to feel.

John knew how he felt; even for him, this was unreal.

Dean broke the silence, "Where's Bobby?"

John looked up, only then noticing that his friend had not followed him to Sam's room.

The father stood up, on edge and peered out the door. He looked down either side of the hallway and saw the veteran hunter heading their way.

"Where were you?" John asked suspiciously.

Bobby raised an eyebrow and opened one clenched fist, revealing a plastic saltshaker.

"Getting supplies," he answered, "There's a whole whack of these things in the cafeteria."

"Salt?" Dean asked, seeing what Bobby held, "Why do we need salt?"

"We think a demon killed Sam's donor and we're not sure if it'll be after him next," Bobby explained, keeping his voice low.

"Is everything okay?" Sam asked nervously, staring right at Bobby.

"Uh… yeah," the hunter replied, "Don't worry, son."

Dean looked at John and then to Bobby.

"I'll tell him the good news," John's eldest said and stepped forward to talk quietly with the older hunter while he laid down lines of salt on the windowsill and doorframe.

John approached his youngest; his throat tight and sat down in the visitor's chair.

"I… can't believe it," he muttered.

Sam gave a wry smile, "Me either."

John sighed, not knowing what to say.

He looked up when he felt Sam's hand on his arm.

"Don't worry, Dad," his son said, "Everything's going to be okay now."

John, veteran of the Vietnam War and hardened hunter, nodded, his chin trembling.

Randall Gorman had thought he was simply giving Sam a kidney but what he was really giving the young man was so much more.

John could see it in his son's face- call it hope or happiness or whatever you like- but Sam's entire demeanor had changed in the blink of an eye. Even when Sam had begun to grow more and more at ease with using his cane and reading Braille he hadn't looked like this.

John didn't know how to explain it and was certain he never would, but whatever it was, it made all the difference in the world to Sam and in turn, all the difference to him.

SPN

Dean remained steadfastly at Sam's side while they waited; either for the youngest Winchester to have recovered enough to return to Sioux Falls or for the demon that had killed Randall Gorman to appear, it didn't matter. Dean refused to move from his seat even when Bobby drifted from the room in search of coffee.

The boys' father sat in the chair provided for visitors, dark eyes glued to the doorway.

Dean felt the need to be as close to his sibling as possible and was perched on the edge of the mattress beside Sam.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked his brother quietly, "Does your side hurt?"

Sam shrugged, "A little. It's not bad."

Dean looked up and his shoulders tensed when a nurse walked into the room.

"Hello," she greeted as she stepped over the line of salt in the doorway with no reaction, "My name is Maggie, I'll be your nurse."

"Hi," Sam replied quietly and Dean repeated him.

Maggie turned to John and the hunter introduced himself and his sons.

"You were transferred here from Sioux Falls," Maggie said as she read over Sam's chart that was clipped to the end of the bed, "Recovering from a kidney transplant."

The nurse looked up and smiled, "How are you feeling? Any discomfort or pain at the incision site?"

Sam shrugged vaguely, "It doesn't hurt that bad…"

Maggie approached him, "On a scale of one to ten for pain- ten being the highest and one being the lowest- how would you rate how you're feeling?"

Dean smirked as Sam sighed but answered.

"Two… or three… not bad at all," he replied.

The nurse nodded before speaking again, "Have you been to the washroom yet? Since you came out of surgery?"

Dean chuckled at the sight of his brother's face turning red with embarrassment.

"Uh… no?" Sam said uncertainly.

Maggie tsked, "You can't leave until you use the toilet. I know people don't think it's all that important but we need to make sure that you're bowels are working after having the anesthetic in your body for so long… and we also need to make sure that new kidney of yours is agreeing with you and doing what it should."

Dean snorted at the topic of conversation- and Sam's beet red face- but sobered when John gave him a disapproving look.

"As long as the pain is manageable I'll come back later," Maggie told Sam, "Just press the call button if you need anything."

Sam, muttering, said he would and the nurse left the room.

"You're a jerk, Dean," Sam grumbled and the twenty-two year old blinked, feigning innocence, "What did I do?"

"Boys," John said in a warning tone but it was clear he wasn't really concerned with his sons starting an argument.

Bobby appeared in the doorway, a tray of coffee in one hand.

"Thought y'all could use some," he commented.

Dean smiled at Sam's surprised look, "Not you, Sammy."

The older brother took the drink Bobby offered and took a sip, "On second thought, this stuff is great for making you go Number One and Two."

Dean held the paper cup out to his brother but Sam's face scrunched up and he pushed it away.

"No thanks," he muttered.

"Any sign of that demon?" John asked the older hunter and both Sam and Dean turned serious.

Bobby shook his head, "If it's here, it sure is taking its time coming after Sam."

Dean frowned, "Maybe it just wanted Gorman."

John looked to Bobby and the veteran hunter nodded, "Could be."

Still, the hunters remained vigilant for any sign of supernatural activity.

SPN

Sam shifted uncomfortably against the hospital bed's mattress, frowning.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked concernedly.

"Yeah… I uh…" the younger man stammered, embarrassed.

"I can get a nurse," Dean insisted but Sam shook his head, "No… I have to… uh…"

"Sam," John said, "What's the matter?"

Sam closed his eyes and sighed.

"I… have to go to the bathroom," he muttered and looked up, glad that he couldn't see the expression on Dean's face.

"Why didn't you just say so?" John asked, "The nurse said you have to go to the washroom anyway so that they know everything is working as it should."

Sam glared at his brother as Dean nudged his shoulder, "Sammy doesn't want us to know about it."

"I am not!" the eighteen-year old snapped even though it was true. It was embarrassing to have his father and brother there when Maggie had explained that he needed to use the toilet to ensure he wasn't still sick.

"C'mon Sam," Dean commented, "I changed your diapers when you were a baby and toilet-trained you. What you do in the washroom is no mystery to me."

Sam stared at his brother's gold-rimmed form in horror.

"Okay, okay," Dean relented, "Do you need help getting up?"

Sam shook his head and climbed down from the bed, the tile floor chilly beneath his feet. Looking up, Sam could make out the doorway to the bathroom etched in black against the white background and made a beeline for it.

He reached out and touched the doorframe, extremely happy to be able to navigate the hospital room with no assistance, and cringed when Dean had to have the last word.

"Let me know if you need any help in there Sammy!"

"Dean!" John snapped and Sam smiled before closing the door.

SPN

After bringing some much-needed coffee to the two eldest Winchesters, Bobby left the room and roamed the hallways. If the demon did show its face in the hospital the grizzled hunter didn't want the small family to be caught off guard.

Besides keeping an eye out for anyone who seemed suspicious, Bobby also wanted time to think.

Sam getting his sight back- of a sort- was amazing and seemingly unreal. The damage to the young man's eyes had been so severe that he was certain to be blind for the rest of his life.

Although the Winchesters were happy- as they should be- about the new development it made the grizzled hunter somewhat uneasy.

Of course it could just be Sam taking on Randall Gorman's psychic power along with the man's kidney. Bobby had heard of cases where people who had received transplanted organs suddenly started liking certain foods or not liking them, having strange dreams that didn't seem at all like something their subconscious would dredge up or even experience personality changes but this… this seemed a little far-fetched.

Oh, Bobby wasn't denying that Sam could see again. He just wasn't completely sure why.

And why was his donor now dead by demon hand?

Had some unseen force guided Gorman to Sam? John had told Bobby Randall's story about trailing Sam for the ex-director of Dunhill and at the time it seemed to make sense but had that been it? Was there someone else who had an interest in the youngest Winchester?

Bobby sighed and scratched his ruddy beard, turning towards the elevators to head to the cafeteria for something to eat.

He may be a hunter- and a damn good one if he could say so himself- but Bobby didn't fancy himself an expert on the politics of Hell. He didn't know why Gorman had been killed other than for the fact that he had served his purpose and was no longer needed. He didn't know why any demon would give a shit about the Winchesters, especially young Sam.

Of course, it could be all coincidence and Bobby could be looking into Sam's miraculous gift of sight far too deeply for no reason.

Shaking his head, Bobby stepped into the elevator and smiled at a young nurse whose nametag read 'Maggie'.

The woman stepped out of the elevator, slipping between the two doors as they closed without looking back as Bobby reached out to press the button for the lower floor.

The grizzled hunter failed to see the nurse's eyes flash sickly yellow as she left the elevator.

SPN

Sam closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, reclining against the mattress.

"Really? You're tired?" Dean's voice asked from beside him, "You've were asleep for three and a half hours earlier today."

"Leave me alone," Sam muttered irritably.

"Dean, let him sleep," John's voice ordered and Sam felt the mattress move as Dean left his side.

"I'm going to get a magazine or something," Sam heard his brother say, "You want anything, Dad?"

John apparently had shaken his head because Dean left the room seconds later, leaving Sam alone with their father. Sam, who may have been uneasy about that fact only a week earlier, now felt completely content in John's presence.

Sighing, Sam settled in to a bit of a nap, believing the room to be secure from attack.

SPN

John looked up and saw Maggie standing in the doorway of the room. She smiled and took a step over the line of salt, chuckling as she entered the room.

"Sam's asleep," the father explained, "But I think he's doing alright."

The nurse grinned widely, "That's good. I was worried about him."

John smiled, "He's a strong kid."

Maggie nodded, "I know. I was counting on it."

The father's eyebrows knitted together and he frowned, "What?"

"What I mean is," Maggie answered, turning her head to look at John, "He's always been my favourite and I was upset to hear about his unfortunate run-in with the Black Market ring operating in that psychiatric hospital."

John stood, suddenly scared and opened his mouth to speak again when the nurse raised her hand and he was slammed into the wall.

"Shhh," Maggie said, finger against her lips, "Sammy's sleeping. We don't want to wake him up, do we?"

"How…did…you…get…in?" John ground out, his chest heaving in panic.

Maggie gave him an incredulous look, "Really, you think some meager line of salt is going to stop me?"

John struggled in vain against the invisible bonds holding him against the wall, terrified for his youngest.

"Don't…hurt…him," he begged.

The demon approached the bed where Sam lay and reached out, fingers hovering just inches from the sleeping boy's face.

"Now, why would I do that, John?" the demon asked, "I said Sam was my favourite and I didn't lie. I have plans for Sammy, yes, I do. Big ones."

John growled threateningly when Maggie laid a hand instead on Sam's head, smoothing down his short hair. The teen whimpered a little and turned his face to the side but didn't wake.

"Don't…touch…him!" John snarled but the demon ignored him.

"It just wouldn't be fair for Sam to be completely blind," Maggie continued as though John hadn't spoken, "I'm not that cruel. So, I hired Randall Gorman to find Sam for me. Yes, I possessed that self-serving prick Findlay and called the psychic."

"Let…me…go!" John demanded but the demon wasn't looking at him, it was focused on Sam.

"I knew Randall would feel compelled to help your son," Maggie told him, "He liked to think he was a hard-ass but he really had a heart of gold."

The demon now turned to look at John, "And it turned out I was right. I didn't even have to do anything! Randall just decided to donate a kidney all on his own!"

"How… How… did…you…know-" the father began but the demon interrupted, finishing the sentence, "That Randall's kidney would transfer some of his powers to your son?"

John inclined his head- it was about as much as he could move it to nod- and waited for the demon.

"Call it an educated guess," Maggie replied, "I may be good but even I'm not that good. At any rate, if it didn't work and Sammy here still remained blind, at least he wouldn't have to have his blood cleaned by a machine four times a week. I want all my children to be in top form and having Sam so sick just wasn't going to work."

"What…are…you…talking…about?" John asked, his mouth going dry with fear.

"Can't tell you. It's a surprise," Maggie told him, "You like surprises, right Johnny?"

John opened his mouth in shock when the nurse's eyes flashed yellow before she glanced at her watch.

"You! You…bastard!" John stammered, feeling sick to his stomach.

"Looks like I'm almost out of time," the demon said, "I'd love to stay and chat but I've got places to be and people to possess."

John stared as the demon stepped away from Sam and left the room. The monster's power remained focused on keeping the father pinned against the wall for a long minute before it released him and John fell onto his hands and knees.

"Sam!" he shouted and stood up, staggering across the room to his youngest.

"Sam! Sam! Wake up!"

John felt relief wash over him as his eighteen-year old's eyes opened slowly.

"Dad?" he muttered, his tone confused.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" John asked, reaching out to cup Sam's face between his hands.

The teen's expression turned confused and scared, "What? No, I feel fine. Dad, what's wrong?"

The father took a deep breath. Sam wasn't hurt, he wasn't hurt and the demon was gone. Not wanting to frighten his son anymore then he already was, John shook his head, "Nothing Sam. Sorry."

Stepping back, John shook his head and took his seat again, shaken.

Taking a deep breath, the father rubbed his hands over his face, telling himself that Bobby and Dean did not need to know about the demon. That would only anger the grizzled hunter and terrify his son. No, for better or worse John was going to keep that a secret.

SPN

"Are you sure?" Bobby asked for the tenth time, "You could always stay here for a little while longer."

Sam smiled at the grizzled hunter and gave him a tight hug, "I know, Bobby. But I'm okay. Really."

The grizzled hunter nodded, sighing.

A month had passed since Sam had been released from the hospital in Mitchell.

There had been no sign of the demon that had killed Randall Gorman and once the Winchesters had returned to Sioux Falls Dr. Greene expected to see Sam regularly for his check-ups. The young man took his medications loyally and there were no complications with infection or rejection- it seemed that Lady Luck was indeed smiling upon the Winchesters- and Dr. Greene happily gave Sam a clean bill of health.

Rayann Muir, astonished by Sam's rapid recovery from surgery and his continued progress with Braille and the cane, had announced just the week before that her work was done, the parting bittersweet for everyone.

Even though Sam could see inanimate objects in black-and-white and people with coloured auras surrounding them, the written word was still lost to him. Peering down at a book, Sam only saw individual pages and not the words printed in them. The screen on the television, too, was simply a blank white square with no pictures.

"Are you sure you want to come with us?" Dean now asked his brother, his expression concerned, "Bobby's right. If you don't feel ready you can stay here."

Sam shook his head and picked up his duffel bag that he had sat down at his feet.

"I want to go with you and Dad," he insisted.

Bobby had to give the boy points for his tenacity. Ever since John had decided that it was time to get back on the road and Sam had announced he was coming with his brother and father, the two elder Winchesters had been trying their damnedest to convince the eighteen-year old to stay.

"I'll keep myself busy," Sam told them over and over again, "Don't worry about it."

Finally, beaten down, John and Dean had tentatively agreed that Sam could come with them- even though the teen was going to do so anyway and their formal invitation was only a formality- and began packing their belongings into the trunk of the Impala.

John now peered into the house through the screen door, "You boys almost ready?"

Both brothers nodded and Bobby couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness at the thought of the boys leaving.

"Come by next time you're in South Dakota?" He couldn't help but asked and Dean nodded, smiling.

"Of course we will, Bobby," he promised, "It'll probably be to drop Sammy off 'cause he'll get bored to death with us!"

Sam hugged Bobby again and then Dean embraced the grizzled hunter.

"Thanks, Bobby," he whispered, "For everything."

Tears pricked the corners of Bobby's grey eyes and he shook his head, "That's what family's for. Now, you two better get goin' before yer Daddy decides to leave you both here."

SPN

Dean felt bad that they were leaving Bobby, even though he knew the old hunter could take care of himself.

He and Sam walked to the Impala and placed their bags into its trunk, their father closing the lid once the luggage was stowed away.

The twenty-two year old sat in his usual spot- shotgun- while Sam took the backseat.

"You sure you have everything?" John asked, angling the rearview so that he could get a better view of his youngest without having to turn his neck, "Pills, books, cane?"

Dean began fiddling with the radio as Sam replied, clearly trying to hide the exasperation in his voice.

"Yeah Dad," he commented, "Everything's in my bag."

John nodded and Dean smiled, turning up the volume on the radio as The Who's 'I Can See For Miles' began playing.

"Where are we headed?" Dean asked, looking up at his father.

"Seattle," John answered, "But there's a stop we have to make on the way."

SPN

Sam stared out the Impala's window nervously. He didn't know quite what to expect.

John had assured him that it would be all right and that he had made a promise he had to keep.

The classic Chevy came to a halt in front of a ramshackle building, even Sam could see shingles peeling from the roof and John got out of the car.

Dean opened the door for Sam and the eighteen-year old stepped out.

"Relax, Sammy," Dean said, "No one here's gonna bite."

Sam smiled self-consciously and gripped the handle of his cane tighter.

Dean walked beside him as they approached the building and Sam startled when the front door opened and a woman- Sam was sure it was a woman- surrounded by a fiery red aura.

"John Winchester!" the woman called, "I thought I heard that old piece of crap you drive!"

"Nice to see you too," Sam heard his father grumble and smirked.

"Well, I'll be damned," the woman said, no longer shouting, "You brought the whole clan with you."

"Hi," Dean greeted and Sam felt his brother nudge his shoulder.

"Hello," he replied quietly, suddenly shy.

"Sam Winchester!" the woman all but shrieked and came barreling down the stairs. Sam froze when the woman grabbed his upper arms, "Let's get a look at you."

Sam raised his head and caught sight of his brother.

'Help me,' he mouthed desperately.

Instead of helping, Sam heard Dean chuckle.

"You're looking so much better," the woman told him, "Much healthier."

"Uh…" Sam replied.

"Come on in," the woman released his arms but grabbed his free hand and began pulling him forward, "The others are going to want to see you too."

"Others?" Sam asked and sought out his brother, "What others?"

As soon as Sam stepped inside the building- the Roadhouse, John had called it- he found himself at the center of a group of people all talking to him at once, all reaching out to touch his shoulders or arm- and began feeling very claustrophobic.

"Okay, okay!" Dean's voice rang out after one very long minute, "Break it up!"

The group of people retreated but Sam was given no reprieve, instead Dean introduced him to everyone individually. There was Joshua and Caleb and Ellen and Jo and Ash and Deke and Pastor Jim. Some of the people Sam knew but hadn't seen in many years and others were completely new to him. Sam found himself closing his eyes to prevent himself from getting sick as their auras all began to mix in his head.

"Here, Sammy," he heard Dean say and felt a cold glass pressed into his hand.

"Thanks," he muttered and brought the glass to his lips, tasting Coca-Cola.

Dean took hold of Sam's hand holding the cane and led him forwards, "Sit."

Dean took the glass from Sam and the young man heard it hit something wooden- a counter- and Sam reached out, his fingers brushing against a bar stool.

Sam pulled himself onto the stool and carefully opened his eyes again, sighing at the familiar black and white 'sketches' met his gaze, devoid of colour.

"How're you feeling?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged, "That was a bit much."

He heard Dean chuckle, "Yeah, but I guess Dad wanted everyone who was involved with your rescue to see you in one go."

Sam nodded and picked up his glass of Coke.

"You okay?" Dean asked, his tone concerned and Sam glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

Dean's aura, like John's was gold, and very bright. Sam quickly looked away.

"I'm just thinking," he muttered.

"It's never good when you start thinking," Dean replied.

Sam smiled sadly.

"Whatever it is," Dean continued, "Forget about it. All that shit that happened before; it's in the past. You don't have to think about it ever again if you don't want to. You're alive, you're healthy… what those bastards did to you, it wasn't permanent. You didn't let them win. Just being here proves that."

Sam lowered his head. Dean was right.

Looking up, the eighteen-year old nodded.

"What I'd be thinking about, if I were you," Dean told him in a conspiratorial tone, "Is whether you can convince Jo to give you a kiss."

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, laughing despite himself.

"She's been staring at you since you stepped in here," Dean told him.

Sam shook his head, "She's probably creeped out by my eyes."

"Nah," Dean replied, "No way. Here, I'll prove it to you. Hey! Jo! Come over here for a minute!"

SPN

John smiled as he watched his sons and Ellen's daughter talking at the other end of the bar.

Ellen herself sighed and turned to look at John.

"He's looking a hell of a lot better," she said and the father nodded.

"You wouldn't believe the change in him, Ellen," John told her, "He's a completely different person."

The woman nodded and took a sip of her beer.

"I just hate that he had to go through all that shit to get to this point," the father lamented sadly.

Ellen frowned and put her beer down.

"We all go through hell," she said, "Sometimes it's of our own making and sometimes… well… you know…"

John nodded, "He's strong. Stronger than me."

Ellen glanced over at John's youngest, "Because you raised him to be."

John looked at her, "I guess I just didn't realize how strong that boy was."

The woman smiled at him, "Kids will surprise you."

John returned the gesture, "I just hope that he's strong enough to face whatever comes his way. I have a bad feeling its only going to get harder for him from hereon in."

Ellen reached out and tentatively touched the father's arm, "With you, and Dean, I know Sam will be able to face anything."


End file.
